I 


I 


4      v 


LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


THE  HARD  ROCK  MAN 


THE  HARD  ROCK  MAN 


BY 

FREDERICK  R.  BECHDOLT 


NEW   YORK 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1910 

UBKARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFOKiliA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
MOFFAT.  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


TO 

MY  WIFE,   ADELE 
WHO  HELPED  ME  WRITE  THE  STORY 


THE  HARD  ROCK  MAN 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  construction  camp  of  Snowslide  lay  in 
the  depths  of  the  canyon  bed,  a  gray  and  yel 
low  scar.  The  gray  dump  stretched  along  the 
side  of  the  brawling  stream;  at  its  head  clus 
tered  the  buildings  of  unpainted  yellow  pine. 
Here  in  the  middle  the  portal  of  the  tunnel 
yawned,  a  black  spot  on  the  mountainside. 

They  had  been  boring  Snowslide  tunnel  eight 
months ;  they  would  be  at  it  three  years  more, 
making  a  short-cut  for  the  railroad  through 
a  three-mile  barrier  of  the  living  rock.  In 
the  eight  months  they  had  littered  the  place 
with  man-made  desecrations;  on  the  hill  the 
bunk-houses  and  dining  hall;  by  the  stream- 
bed  the  timber-sheds,  the  blacksmith  shop,  the 
power-house  smearing  the  tree-tops  with  black 
smoke,  and  the  lean  gray  dump  where  the 
muck  trains  clattered  to  and  fro.  Beside 

1 


2  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

their  track  the  outside  gang  labored,  shoveling 
away  the  loads  which  the  cars  brought  to  them. 

There  were  six  of  them  bending  their  backs 
to  the  heavy  toil.  Five  worked  near  together; 
the  sixth,  at  a  little  distance  from  them.  All 
the  morning  they  had  been  working  this  way, 
the  five  in  close  company  their  backs  toward 
the  one,  a  little  interval  between  the  group 
and  the  solitary  figure.  The  five  were  Slavs; 
they  were  short,  thick-chested  men  with  long 
muscle-bound  arms;  their  eyes  slanted  slightly 
toward  the  corners.  Their  fingers  were 
crooked,  warped  to  the  shovel  handles.  They 
shoveled  deliberately,  with  precision,  working 
like  slow-moving  machines.  Occasionally  one 
of  them  glanced  obliquely  at  the  sixth  man; 
then  said  a  low  word  to  the  others,  and  they 
laughed.  It  was  a  low  laugh  with  no  ring. 

Toiling  thus  by  himself  Tom  Morton,  the 
sixth  man,  shoveled  the  broken  rock  awk 
wardly.  He  was  an  Irishman.  It  was  his 
first  day  on  his  first  job  since  he  had  left  a 
little  rented  acreage  across  the  sea.  And  he 
was  young.  He  worked  with  eagerness;  he 
made  strength  do  where  skill  was  lacking. 
He  crushed  his  shovel  blade  into  the  heap  of 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  3 

rock  before  him;  he  threw  each  load  far  from 
him  over  the  edge  of  the  dump  down  into  the 
stream-bed.  He  sweated  with  excess  of  ef 
fort,  striving  to  do  more  than  any  of  the  five 
whose  backs  were  always  toward  him.  At  in 
tervals  between  the  muck  trains — after  he  had 
scraped  together  the  last  fragments  of  his  pile 
and  tossed  them  away — he  straightened  his 
back  and  rested.  Then  he  looked  upward  at 
the  mountains,  along  their  steep  sides  black- 
green  with  mantling  hemlocks  toward  their 
sheer  rock  summits  cutting  the  sky's  blue  with 
ragged  silhouette  of  brown.  They  were  the 
first  mountains  he  had  ever  seen  so  closely. 
Green  Irish  hills  lay  a  little  more  than  a  month 
back,  fresh  in  his  memory,  low  rolling  hills  ris 
ing  away  from  a  broad  river.  Standing  on 
the  edge  of  the  dump  leaning  on  his  shovel 
handle,  he  turned  his  sweating  face  upward 
toward  the  rugged  peaks.  They  were  very 
dark;  they  seemed  to  touch  the  sky  like  lofty 
walls. 

He  leaned  upon  the  shovel;  his  big  hands 
gripped  the  handle,  hiding  it;  his  long  arms 
extended  rigidly  from  his  wide  shoulders  bent 
now  to  the  reaching — for  he  was  very  tall,  tall 


4  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

and  broad;  in  his  hands  the  shovel  looked  like 
a  child's  plaything.  His  upturned  face  was 
fresh  with  color,  large  featured,  beardless. 
His  eyes  were  the  clean,  hard  gray  that  never 
changes,  save  to  glint  like  metal.  They  re 
garded  the  mountains  steadily.  Thus  he 
stood,  every  line  of  his  rough-clad  figure,  from 
his  clumsy  shoes  to  his  squam  hat  of  oilskin, 
proclaiming  his  awkward  strength.  Then  the 
muck  train  brought  a  new  load  and  he  bent 
his  back  again  to  work. 

The  muck  came  from  the  tunnel;  it  was  wet, 
broken  granite,  among  the  pieces,  fine  grit 
made  paste-like  by  seepage.  It  was  heavy, 
hard  to  handle ;  it  tangled  before  Tom's  shovel 
point,  then  disintegrated  suddenly  leaving  the 
blade  all  but  empty.  He  sweated  over  it, 
swinging  his  shovel  stiffly,  pushing  it  by  main 
force  into  the  heap,  lifting  huge  loads,  throw 
ing  them  many  feet  beyond  him.  He  was 
anxious  to  do  his  share,  willing  to  do  more  than 
his  share  if  there  were  any  question.  At  times 
his  breath  came  heavily  and  he  sobbed  with  the 
muscular  effort.  He  was  handling  one-fourth 
more  than  any  of  the  others. 

The  five  Slavs  worked  with  stolid  faces,  their 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  5 

eyes  upon  the  ground  save  only  when  one  of 
them  glanced  slantingly  at  Tom  striving  nois 
ily  alone,  and  spoke  the  low  word  which  made 
his  fellows  laugh.  They  wormed  their  shovel 
blades  into  the  rock,  tossing  it  just  clear  of 
the  brink  so  that  it  rolled  down  the  side  of  the 
dump.  Each  of  them  handled  exactly  the 
same  quantity  covering  an  unmarked  division 
whose  proportion  to  the  other  four  never 
varied.  And  always  there  was  the  same  dis 
crepancy  between  each  of  these  allotments  and 
the  amount  which  Tom  covered. 

The  sun  climbed  toward  the  middle  of  the 
blue  segment  of  sky  that  roofed  the  canyon 
bed.  It  glared  upon  the  mountain  sides  and 
the  tree-clad  mountains  threw  its  heat  into  the 
bared  patch  of  camp.  The  dump  caught  the 
rays  at  their  focus;  its  gray  surface  shimmered 
with  vague  waves.  The  outside  gang  toiled 
unshaded,  and  sweat  dropped  from  their  bodies 
to  the  broken  stones  at  their  feet.  It  soaked 
Tom's  shirt;  it  ran  into  his  eyes.  His  fingers 
ached  to  the  hard  touch  of  the  shovel  handle 
and  when  he  paused  to  rest  they  stiffened  and 
became  sore.  In  their  group  the  five  Slavs 
were  swinging  their  arms  like  sluggish  pendu- 


6  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

lums.  Suddenly  Tom  heard  among  them  a 
low  exclamation,  subdued  but  sharp.  And  at 
once  he  saw  their  demeanor  change. 

They  were  working  stolidly  no  longer. 
Their  faces  were  tense,  alive  with  energy. 
Their  shovels  were  flying;  the  muck  shot  from 
the  blades  far  over  the  edge  of  the  dump  down 
into  the  stream-bed.  Their  short,  broad  backs 
were  bending  down,  then  straightening  up  in 
spasmodic  movement.  They  grunted  with 
their  efforts.  It  was  not  eagerness  to  do;  it 
was  rather  as  though  someone  whom  they 
feared  were  compelling  them.  Tom  heard  a 
footstep  on  the  track  and  looked  up. 

A  man  was  passing.  He  held  Tom's  eyes 
like  a  divinity.  He  was  a  huge  man,  red  faced, 
of  mighty  girth.  He  was  well  clothed,  and 
on  his  head,  tilted  to  an  aggressive  angle,  he 
wore  a  derby  hat.  Rubber  boots  encased  his 
legs.  In  his  tie  a  diamond  glistened.  His 
mustache  bristled  fiery  red.  He  was  walk 
ing  wide-f ootedly,  striding  as  one  who  always 
gets  all  the  room  he  wants.  His  head  was 
back  and  his  arms  swung  free.  He  looked  at 
the  outside  gang,  a  quick,  intolerant  glance 
that  swept  them  in  an  instant.  The  five  Slavs 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  T 

cringed  and  dropped  their  eyes  to  their  flying 
shovels. 

It  was  The  Old  Man,  the  superintendent. 
In  the  heart  of  the  mountains  here  he  ruled. 
He  had  charge  of  the  work,  the  two  camps  on 
the  opposite  sides  of  the  granite  peak  with  their 
power  plants,  their  clanking  machinery  and 
six  hundred  men.  He  commanded  the  bosses ; 
he  was  supreme.  Tom  gazed  upon  his  broad 
back  swinging  down  the  car  track.  It  was 
like  watching  the  passing  of  a  superior  being. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  sun  shone  hot  that  afternoon,  swing 
ing  toward  the  western  mountain  wall.  At 
regular  intervals  the  black  hole  disgorged  the 
muck  train.  It  clattered  along  its  uneven 
track  to  the  outside  gang  and  stopped.  The 
motorman  stood  idly  leaning  against  his  con 
troller  box,  while  the  cartender  withdrew  the 
keys  and  dumped  the  loads.  It  was  heavy 
shoulder-lifting  and  he  always  called  one  of 
the  five  Slavs  to  help  him.  The  Cartender  was 
a  broad-faced  young  Irish- American ;  his  wide 
mouth  was  continually  widening  good  na- 
turedly.  When  his  helper  was  slow  he  cursed 
the  man  volubly  and  loudly.  Once  after  he 
had  done  his  tongue  lashing  he  looked  over  at 
Tom  and  winked  slowly. 

While  the  empty  train  rattled  away  the  six 
of  them  fell  to  work  upon  the  wet,  broken  rock, 
always  the  five  Slavs  together,  their  backs 
toward  Tom.  He  felt  his  isolation  and  in 
spite  of  the  new  labor  that  it  brought  he  looked 

8 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  9 

ahead  for  each  return  of  the  train  because  it 
carried  this  one  man  who  showed  feeling  of 
fellowship,  whose  face  was  that  of  his  own 
race. 

The  only  other  visitor  they  had  was  the  out 
side  boss.  He  came  from  the  head  of  the 
dump  at  long  intervals  and  remained  a  short 
time  watching  them.  When  he  looked  at  the 
five  Slavs  his  eyes,  trained  to  such  details, 
caught  at  once  the  amount  each  of  them  had 
apportioned  to  himself.  They  went  to  Tom 
and  noted  the  discrepancy  between  each  of 
those  portions  and  that  over  which  he  sweated. 
The  boss  frowned  after  he  had  made  the  survey 
but  he  said  nothing  and  he  went  away. 

At  six  o'clock  the  power  house  roof  emitted 
a  jet  of  white  steam.  For  some  minutes  the 
five  Slavs  had  been  working  with  their  eyes  in 
this  direction.  As  soon  as  the  steam-cloud 
showed  against  the  green-black  background  of 
the  mountain  they  dropped  their  shovels  and 
ran  to  pick  up  their  coats.  As  they  were  run 
ning  the  shrill  call  of  the  whistle  reached  Tom's 
ears.  He  laid  down  his  shovel  and  followed 
them  slowly  up  the  dump  toward  the  boarding 
camp. 


10  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

The  buildings  of  the  boarding  camp  lay  to 
the  right  of  the  tunnel  portal  on  the  first  rise 
of  the  hill,  glaring  structures  of  yellow  pine, 
three  bunk-houses,  the  general  foreman's  cot 
tage  and  the  dining  hall.  Each  of  the  bunk- 
houses  was  designated  by  a  single  letter  painted 
sign-like  on  a  board:  A,  B  and  C.  The  gen 
eral  foreman's  cottage  was  similarly  lettered, 
D.  It  was  nearest  to  the  track,  close  to  the 
huddle  of  buildings  about  the  portal.  The 
dining  hall  was  well  up  on  the  hill  behind  it 
near  the  three  bunk-houses.  Its  front  steps 
were  now  black  with  men,  members  of  the  day 
shift  waiting  for  the  doors  to  open.  As  Tom 
turned  to  the  right  and  was  passing  "D"  quar 
ters  the  Slavs  had  already;  joined  this  crowd. 
At  the  same  moment  the  wide  doors  opened. 
There  was  a  crash  of  heavy;  shod  feet,  a  shout 
from  the  center  of  the  crowd  now  surging  up 
and  inward  billowing  with  the  struggles  of 
its  members  to  hasten  their  advance.  The 
steps  roared  with  the  beat  of  the  great  boots 
and  the  mass  of  men  seethed  into  the  wide 
doors.  Then  a  white-aproned  man  stood  alone 
on  the  porch  beating  upon  a  triangle.  Strag 
glers  came  running  from  the  three  bunk-houses, 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  11 

some  pulling  on  their  coats,  others  bare-headed 
and  in  their  shirt  sleeves.  After  the  last  of 
these  had  hurried  up  the  steps  Tom  entered 
the  place,  tired  with  his  day's  work,  somewhat 
confused  with  the  newness  and  the  suddenness 
of  the  things  about  him. 

It  was  a  long,  many-windowed  room,  bare- 
floored,  with  rough  board  walls.  Overhead, 
the  roof  timbers  were  browned  by  smoke  from 
many  meals;  the  shingles  showed  through  wide 
spaces  between  the  boards.  In  the  rear,  cut 
off  by  a  low  railing,  the  kitchen  opened;  about 
its  hooded  range  two  bare-armed  cooks  bent 
over  steaming  cauldrons.  At  the  railing 
aproned  waiters,  rough-garbed  like  the  men 
whom  they  served,  lingered  briefly  for  huge 
tins  of  food  or  hurried  away  bearing  their 
smoking  burdens.  Three  tables  stretched  the 
length  of  the  dining  hall,  flanked  by  pine 
benches  covered  with  oilcloth. 

Two  of  these  tables  were  lined  from  end 
to  end  by  the  men  of  Snowslide.  They  sat 
close  wedged,  elbow  to  elbow,  busy  at  their 
food.  For  the  most  part  they  were  big  men, 
large-boned,  wide  of  chest.  Their  faces  were 
at  once  heavy  and  alive,  heavy  with  largeness 


12  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

of  feature,  alive  with  reckless  lines  of  action; 
some  bore  ragged  scars,  and  some  were  tat 
tooed  blue  from  burning  powder.  The  men 
were  clad  in  the  rough  garments  of  their  toil, 
oilskins  still  dripping  moisture,  coarse  flannel 
shirts,  their  sleeves  uprolled  above  great  arms, 
their  fronts  yawning  over  hairy  chests.  They 
were  eating  as  they  had  toiled,  heavily,  with 
effort,  crudely.  No  fabric  of  etiquette  had 
been  woven  round  their  feeding  to  hinder 
movement.  They  ate  like  animals,  to  supply  a 
need.  From  the  high-heaped,  steaming  pans 
before  them  they  lifted  their  food  in  enormous 
pieces;  and  the  waiters  raced  back  and  forth 
to  maintain  the  supply.  There  was  little 
speech.  Now  a  giant  growled  a  monosyllabic 
demand  and  another  giant,  complying,  shoved 
toward  this  one  a  laden  pan.  Occasionally  a 
colossus  laughed  and  the  dishes  shook  before 
the  diapason.  Always  came  the  clash  of  the 
knives  on  the  tin  dishes  and  the  noise  of  the 
eating. 

Tom  stood  near  the  door  looking  for  a 
place.  A  man  beckoned  him,  smiling  widely, 
and  pointed  to  a  vacant  space  beside  himself. 
It  was  The  Cartender.  "Set  down,"  said  he, 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  13 

"an'  pitch  in,  an'  remember,  God  helps  them 
what  helps  themselves." 

It  was  good  food.  Tom  ate  a  long  time 
and  when  he  had  done  the  last  stragglers  were 
filing  outward  through  the  door.  The  Car- 
tender  remained  beside  him,  whittling  tobacco 
in  thin  shavings  from  a  brown  plug.  He 
rolled  the  shavings  together  in  the  palms  of 
his  hands  and  filled  a  black  briar  pipe.  He 
lighted  it  and  drew  a  few  long  puffs.  "Well, 
Irish,"  said  he,  "how  d'ye  like  ut?" 

Tom  smiled  quietly  into  his  eyes.  '  'Tis 
alright,"  he  said. 

"Them  Polackers,"  The  Cartender  went  on 
slowly,  rising  from  the  bench;  "they're  ridin' 

ye." 

Tom  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Ridin'  ye,"  said  The  Cartender.  "Givin' 
ye  the  worst  of  ut.  They  don't  do  their 
share." 

"I  can  shovel  more  than  anny  wan  av  thim," 
asserted  Tom.  He  did  not  understand  why 
The  Cartender  chuckled. 

As  they  walked  to  the  bunk-house  Tom 
drew  a  short-stemmed  clay  pipe  from  his 


14  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

pocket.  He  filled  its  black  bowl  and  puffed 
placidly.  His  big,  young  face  was  grave, 
half -puzzled.  "I  did  more  than  anny  wan 
av  thim,"  he  reiterated  finally,  "and  can  do 
more  than  anny  two." 

The  Cartender  stopped  his  grinning  and 
looked  at  Tom  kindly.  "Ye  are  green,"  he 
said,  "but  ye  will  larn.  On  public  works  ye 
always  can  find  plenty  that's  itchin'  to  let 
ye  handle  more  than  yer  share  of  the  muck. 
Them  scum  on  the  outside  gang  is  always 
layin'  fer  a  white  man.  Ye  must  make  them 
do  what  is  theirs  to  do." 

"Ye  mane?"  asked  Tom. 

"I  mean  they're  laughin',"  said  The  Car- 
tender;  "thinkin'  how  smart  thejr  be  to  let  ye 
do  most  of  the  work." 

They  went  to  the  middle  bunk-house,  "B" 
quarters,  the  largest  of  the  three.  In  addition 
to  its  shift  of  tunnel  workers  it  held  the  out 
side  gangs.  Bunks  flanked  its  long,  bare- 
floored  room  on  three  sides ;  on  the  fourth  were 
the  entrance  and  the  door  that  opened  into  the 
heading  foreman's  office.  The  bunks  lay  in 
two  tiers ;  heavy  timbers  supported  them.  In 
a  corner  near  the  foreman's  office  was  a  sink 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  15 

with  hot  and  cold  water  faucets,  where  the 
men  washed  themselves.  In  the  center  of  the 
room,  hung  round  with  steaming  garments 
and  surrounded  by  board  benches,  there  was 
a  long  heater  stove.  The  benches  were  now 
occupied  by  a  dozen  of  the  drill  runners  from 
the  day  shift,  big-boned  men  with  hard, 
scarred  faces — save  one  whose  little  body  was 
bent,  warped  as  though  the  rock  had  been  too 
much  for  it.  He  had  lost  an  eye  and  his  face 
puckered  into  a  thousand  wrinkles  around  the 
empty  socket.  Beside  him  sat  the  largest  of 
the  crowd,  a  crop-haired  giant  with  blue  pocks 
of  burned  powder  on  his  cheek.  The  group 
were  talking  of  the  work  and  these  two  were 
evidently  authorities,  for  whenever  one  of 
them  spoke  the  others  let  their  booming  voices 
die.  Tom's  bunk  was  near  the  stove;  he  sat 
on  the  edge  and  listened  to  them. 

The  talk  went  to  The  Old  Man,  the  red- 
faced  superintendent,  whose  passing  on  the 
dump  that  morning  had  held  Tom  like  the 
passing  of  a  divinity;  the  head  of  the  work, 
master  o£  their  masters,  driver  of  those  who 
drove  them.  The  crop-haired  giant  smote  his 
knee  with  his  huge,  gnarled  fist.  "Gimnysack 


16  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Ryan,"  he  cried,  and  there  was  in  his  deep 
voice  at  once  familiarity  and  awe,  "Gunny- 
sack  Ryan,  I  know  him;  I've  known  him  this 
fifteen  year;  an'  The  Gunner  here,  ask  him. 
Ryan!  Why  we  seen  him  when  he  was  raw 
from  the  bogs;  green  I  tell  ye  as  that  there 
boy."  He  waved  his  hard  hand  toward  Tom 
and  the  other  giants,  looking  with  the  gesture, 
laughed. 

"How  about  it,  Gunner?"  asked  one;  "does 
he  know  hard  rock?" 

The  bent  little  man  lifted  his  puckered  face 
and  smiled,  a  slow,  wise  smile.  "Gunnysack," 
said  he;  "he  don't  know  hard  rock  an'  nivver 
did.  By  all  rights  he's  a  steam  shovel  man. 
He  c'n  make  a  steam  shovel  climb  a  tree,  he 
can,  but  he  don't  know  hard  rock.  It's  the 
men  he  knows;  the  men,  I  tell  ye."  He 
paused  expressively  and  let  it  sink  in.  "The 
Old  Man,"  he  said,  "is  a  driver,  that's  what 
he  is;  a  driver;  that's  all  there  is  to  ut.  He 
makes  the  others  do  ut." 

"That's  right,  Gunner,"  several  shouted  at 
once.  "A  driver  he  is." 

"Look  here!"  cried  the  big  man  they  called 
Jerry.  "Look  at  The  Gunner  here.  He 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  17 

knows  the  rock;  none  better.  An'  what's  he 
doin'?  Him  that's  pulled  more  rock  than 
anny  of  ye;  more  than  Ryan  ever  see.  Why, 
he's  runnin'  his  slugger  in  the  headin',  runnin' 
a  drill  like  you  an'  me,  drivin'  tunnel  f  er  The 
Old  Man.  Look  at  the  Walker  an'  the  headin' 
bosses!  They  know  rock;  an'  where  are  they? 
Bossing  to-day,  runnin'  a  drill  to-morrow. 
Pullin'  rock  fer  Ryan,  because  he  knows 
enough  to  make  them  do  ut.  He  drives  them. 
He  always  did  an'  always  will.  He  handles 
men,  he  does ;  men^  not  rock." 

"That's  right,  Jerry,"  said  the  little  Gunner. 
"He  makes  us  do  ut  for  him  and  makes  us 
like  ut." 

The  broad-faced  Cartender  came  and  sat  be 
side  Tom,  on  the  bunk's  edge.  "Listenin*  to 
them  stiffs  drive  tunnel?"  he  asked.  "They're 
always  at  that  between  pay  days  when  their 
money's  gone  an'  they've  been  trowed  out 
from  the  saloons.  Always  drivin'  tunnel. 
They'll  blow  the  stove  pipe  through  the  ruff 
some  night,  puttin'  in  too  big  a  shot."  He 
laughed  at  his  figure.  "Listen  to  them  now," 
he  said;  "handin'  ut  to  The  Old  Man." 

"How  did  he  do  ut,  Gunner?"  one  of  the 


18  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

younger  men  was  asking.     "How  did  he  get 
his  start?" 

The  little  man  smiled  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment.  "Well,"  he  said  finally,  "it  come 
this  way;  somewan  crossed  him  wan  day  and 
Ryan  licked  him;  and  that  was  the  size  of  ut. 
He  pounded  his  way  up." 

"That  is  right,"  said  Jerry.  "Thim  that 
trod  on  his  toes  or  crossed  his  path,  he  mastered 
thim.  When  he  got  his  first  shift  he  hild 
thim  under  his  big  fists  an'  always  done  so 
since.  And  they  like  ut.  Manny's  the  time 
his  walkers  curses  him — behint  his  back,  mind 
— but  they'd  go  to  hell  fer  him  just  the  same. 
Yes,  I  think  it  is  his  fightin'.  Raymimber  Big 
Martin,  Gunner?" 

"I  do  that,"  laughed  The  Gunner,  and  lifted 
his  warped  face.  "  'Twas  on  the  big  ditch. 
Ryan  had  been  blowed  up  wit  black  powder 
an'  they  had  him  in  bed  wit  his  arms  an'  chist 
all  bound  up  in  cloth  an'  oil — an'  two  min  to 
hould  him  down  when  his  head  wint  back  on 
him.  The  day  before  he'd  had  a  bit  av  an 
argument  wit  this  here  Martin — he  was  big 
as  a  house — an'  this  night  Martin  comes  in 
the  dure.  'Who  is  that?'  asks  Ryan.  '  'Tis 
me,'  says  Martin.  'Oh,  'tis  ye,  is  ut?'  says 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  19 

Gunnysack.  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  ye.'  An' 
wit  that  he  climbs  out  of  bed,  rippin'  the 
bandages  where  they  belt  down  his  arms,  an' 
he  lept  on  Martin  an'  handed  him  the  pannin' 
av  his  life.  And  his  arrms  an'  chist  like  a 
beefsteak." 

The  laughter  shook  the  roof  timbers  over 
head.  The  Gunner  raised  his  hand  to  silence 
it.  "But  it  is  not  that,"  he  said,  soberly. 
"'Tis  not  the  fightin'— Ryan  has  the  head. 
There's  thim  likes  to  boss  an'  thim  likes  to  be 
bossed.  He  likes  to  boss,  an'  he  does  ut." 

"For  phwy  is  ut?"  Tom  asked  The  Car- 
tender,  "that  they  call  him  Gunnysack?" 

The  Cartender  scratched  his  head.  "I  re 
member  now,"  he  said;  "I  heard  Big  Jerry 
Morley  there  tell  ut  wan  night.  'Twas  back 
in  the  Pondereille  country,  years  ago,  whin 
they  was  buildin'  this  same  road.  He  was 
green  then,  like  you,  lad,  fresh  from  the  Old 
Sod;  and  he  was  a  mucker.  The  weather  was 
cruel  cold  an'  he  seen  how  the  Polackers 
wrapped  gunnysackin'  round  their  brogans  to 
keep  their  fate  the  warmer.  So  he  did  ut. 
Three  or  four  years  after — he  had  a  shift  then 
on  some  rock  work  back  in  New  York — some- 
wan  come  who  had  seen  the  baggin'  on  his  fate 


20  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

and  told  ut.  An'  so  they  called  him  Gunny- 
sack." 

"Not  to  his  face,"  said  Tom. 

"Haw,  haw,  haw,"  laughed  The  Cartender. 
"Not  to  his  face;  well,  no;  they  did  not." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  janitor  came  and 
turned  out  the  lights,  all  but  a  single  incan 
descent  over  the  stove,  and  the  drill  runners 
went  to  their  bunks.  The  place  became  silent. 
Heavy  breathing  rose  round  the  shadowed 
room.  From  his  own  bunk  Tom  lay  looking 
about  him.  The  single  light  swung  slowly 
to  and  fro,  shifting  brightness  and  blackness 
in  regular  time.  Tom's  mind  was  busy  with 
the  things  that  he  had  heard  and  seen ;  the  men 
with  whom  he  toiled,  the  five  Slavs  who  held 
their  backs  to  him  and  laughed  unpleasantly; 
the  good-natured  Cartender  who  had  told  him 
why  they  laughed — because  he  had  done  what 
was  theirs  to  do;  Ryan,  the  red-faced  master, 
who  had  once  been  like  him,  "Raw,  fresh  from 
the  bogs;  green  as  that  there  boy" — he  remem 
bered  Big  Jerry's  words.  And  this  Ryan  had 
mastered  others  and  made  them  like  it.  He 
slipped  into  slumber  with  these  things  in  his 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  III 

EVERY  night  after  that  Tom  sat  on  the  edge 
of  his  bunk,  listening  to  the  drill  runners  "drive 
tunnel"  round  the  bunk-house  stove.  He  sat, 
his  big  body  bent  forward  and  his  large,  young 
face  upturned  eagerly  to  catch  each  word. 
For  to  him  these  hard-faced  giants  were 
mighty  men,  and  they  told  of  mighty  things. 
He  hearkened  while  they  recounted  deeds  done 
in  far  places,  where  they  had  rended  the  living 
rock  from  the  mountains,  rough  deeds  of  reck 
less  men.  They  told  of  tempests  that  had 
beaten  them  while  they  toiled  among  the 
snows;  of  a  sun  that  had  blazed  upon  them  in 
desert  wastes ;  of  towns  that  had  rung  with  wild 
shouts  and  reeked  with  brawls,  where  every 
night  saw  murder  done,  towns  that  had  long 
since  fallen  to  heaps  of  ruins  beneath  the  deep 
ening  shadows  of  hemlock  forests;  of  shaking 
rock  that  had  thundered  down  and  obliterated 
men  in  the  midst  of  strivings;  of  premature 
blasts  that  had  annihilated  whole  shifts.  They 


22  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

bragged  of  toil  and  drink;  they  spoke  famil 
iarly  of  lawless  women  and  they  laughed  at 
sudden  death.  He  listened,  watching  their 
faces,  lined  with  recklessness,  scarred  by  marks 
of  toil  and  fight.  Their  booming  voices  made 
his  blood  stir  with  vague  longings  of  emula 
tion;  their  wanton  words  and  rude  gestures 
and  their  oaths  were  to  his  mind  signs  of  brave 
spirit. 

Best  of  all  he  liked  to  hear,  and  most  care 
fully  he  cherished,  the  things  they  said  of  The 
Old  Man.  The  crop-haired  giant  Jerry  and 
the  bent  little  one-eyed  Gunner  had  known 
Ryan  longest  and  had  followed  him  furthest 
from  job  to  job;  these  two  told  of  his  mastery 
and  of  the  assertion  which  had  made  him  rise. 
They  told  how  he  roared  his  orders  and  his 
curses,  until  sometimes  whole  shifts  rushed 
hither  and  thither,  while  Ryan  stood  on  rock 
or  wheelbarrow  or  other  small  eminence,  red- 
faced,  wrathful,  bullying  them,  driving  them. 
Always  there  was  purpose  behind  it,  assertion 
that  brought  obedience  and  made  men  cling  to 
him,  and  when  they  abused  him  behind  his  back 
abuse  him  fondly. 

And  so  ;Tom  passed  his  first  evenings  rest- 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  23 

ing  from  the  heavy  work,  hearing  the  story  of 
how  The  Old  Man  had  come  to  master  these 
reckless  men.  The  Cartender  often  sat  beside 
him  and  added  details  to  the  anecdotes.  Some 
times  he  told  Tom  of  the  work  which  these 
men  did,  of  the  inside  of  the  tunnel,  where  the 
air  drills  roared,  beating  against  the  living 
rock,  of  the  booming  blasts  and  the  dangers 
in  the  black  hole's  depths.  Gradually  the  feel 
ing  of  strangeness  was  passing  from  Tom  be 
fore  the  interest  in  this  new  world,  its  deeds 
and  its  men. 

'But  the  days  were  dreary.  The  five  Slavs 
always  talked  together  in  their  own  tongue, 
working  with  their  backs  toward  Tom.  They 
never  had  a  word  for  him  and  they  never  had 
a  look  for  him,  save  the  side  glances  when  they 
laughed  unpleasantly.  On  the  dump  they 
kept  thus  by  themselves  and  in  the  bunk-house 
they  hung  together  in  the  corner  furthest  from 
the  stove,  where  they  slept.  There  none  had 
speech  with  them;  they  were  pariahs.  And 
on  the  toil,  when  he  was  alone  with  them,  they^ 
treated  him  as  a  pariah  in  his  turn. 

Their  attitudes  and  manner  spoke  of  the 
silent  conspiracy  against  him  of  which  The 


24  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Cartender  had  warned  him.  Often — when  the 
rock  came  out  in  large  pieces,  each  piece  a 
carload — the  five  united  their  efforts  to  roll 
over  the  brink  such  of  these  as  fell  to  their 
share.  Never,  unless  the  outside  boss  was 
near,  did  they  offer  such  help  to  Tom;  and 
then  in  sullen  silence. 

He  watched  them  silently  day  after  day, 
studying  their  manner  of  shoveling,  catching 
the  little  tricks  that  made  the  toil  easier. 
Then  he  practiced  himself  these  smooth  econ 
omies  of  motion,  until  gradually  he  learned  to 
swing  his  great  arms  to  absolute  purpose,  with 
out  any  loss  of  energy ;  and  was  able  to  handle 
twice  the  amount  he  had  handled  at  first.  He 
found  himself  doing  it — more  from  day  to 
day.  In  spite  of  the  knowledge  which  The 
Cartender  had  imparted  to  him,  which  he  had 
verified  by  what  he  saw,  he  felt  pride  in  this— 
no  heavy-featured  alien  could  beat  him  work 
ing.  And  he  let  them  go  on  drawing  a  little 
further  from  him,  and  then  a  little  further 
still,  until  the  discrepancy  became  marked; 
until  he  found  them  laughing  more  openly  at 
him,  talking  more  often  in  tones  of  ridicule. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  25 

He  had  now  mastered  the  knowledge  of  shovel 
handling,  and  he  had  begun  to  feel  less 
strange.  Sometimes,  now,  when  he  heard 
them  chuckling  and  saw  them  glancing 
obliquely  at  him,  he  felt  his  rage  rise  within 
him,  and  the  desire  grew  strong  to  leap  upon 
the  nearest  one  and  beat  him  down.  Loneli 
ness  oppressed  him  here ;  he  had  no  speech  with 
anyone  save  The  Cartender.  While  the  muck 
train  paused  the  two  of  them  talked  together 
on  the  dump  as  they  did  in  the  evenings,  listen 
ing  to  the  drill  runners  "drive  tunnel." 

"How  would  a  man  be  afther  gettin'  to  run 
wan  av  thim  drills?"  he  asked  The  Cartender 
one  morning.  It  was  the  first  expression  of  a 
growing  longing  to  go  where  there  was  the 
excitement  of  more  reckless  work.  They  were 
standing  on  the  track,  leaning  against  an 
empty  muck  car.  Inside  the  shift  was  shoot 
ing  the  bench  and  there  was  a  stoppage  in  the 
output  of  muck,  a  respite  for  all  who  handled 
it.  The  Cartender  was  whittling  plug  to 
bacco  into  his  palm.  He  snapped  the  knife 
shut  and  began  rubbing;  the  shavings  in  his 
hard  hands. 


26  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

"  'Tis  aisy  enough,  sometimes,"  said  he,  "if 
ye're  workin'  inside,  muckin'.  After  pay  day 
the  shift  is  always  short,  runners  an'  helpers 
raisin'  hell  downtown.  Then  if  the  boss 
thinks  ye're  likely  he  may  put  ye  to  helpin', 
and  if  ye  hold  yer  job  ye  larn  enough  to  run 
a  machine  in  time."  He  rammed  the  tobacco 
into  his  pipe  bowl,  and  as  he  lighted  it  a  dull 
jar  came  from  the  mountain.  "They've  shot," 
said  The  Cartender;  "we'll  be  goin'  in  now." 

Tom  watched  the  train  until  it  vanished  in 
the  black  patch  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
swallowed  by  the  darkness  where  he  longed  to 
be.  He  turned  slowly  and  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  five  Slavs.  They  were  talking  together 
in  their  own  tongue,  and  as  he  looked  he  saw 
them  glance  toward  him  and  laugh.  His 
eyes  rested  on  them  steadily  and  he  got  a  bold 
stare.  One  of  them — he  was  the  biggest,  a 
short,  thick-chested  man  with  bowed  legs  and 
arms  that  hung  down  to  his  knees,  giving  sug 
gestion  of  an  ape — sneered  with  coarse  lips. 
Tom's  fists  were  clenched  so  tightly  that  his 
nails  hurt  his  calloused  palms.  His  eyes  grew 
cold  like  metal  and  the  Slav's  eyes  fell.  A 
moment  later  they  were  working  elbow  to 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  27 

elbow,  shoveling  away  the  muck,  and  Tom  was 
determining  on  a  course  of  action. 

On  its  next  trip  the  muck  train  brought 
huge  granite  blocks  from  the  rended  bench. 
There  was  one  of  these  to  every  car.  When 
the  train  had  receded  the  five  Slavs  gathered 
round  one  of  the  largest  pieces  which  had 
fallen  to  their  share.  The  biggest  man  among 
them,  the  leader,  picked  up  a  long  pinch  bar, 
bent  by  many  pryings,  and  inserted  its  end 
beneath  the  rock.  He  gave  a  guttural  com 
mand  and  the  other  four  came  toward  him  to 
take  hold.  Then  Tom  tightened  his  lips  and 
took  a  step  toward  them.  His  fists  were  dou 
bled,  his  great  arms  swung  from  the  shoulders, 
elbows  out  from  the  body.  They  heard  him 
and  looked  up. 

He  took  two  more  steps — he  was  within  five 
feet  of  the  leader  now — and  pointed  to  a  longer 
bar  by  the  trackside. 

"Pick  ut  up,"  he  said  quietly.  His  voice 
came  from  his  chest,  gruff  with  the  command; 
his  glinting  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  leader. 
For  an  instant  the  man  stood  in  his  tracks, 
staring  wide-eyed  at  Tom  over  his  shoulder. 
Then  he  straightened  his  back  and  started  to 


28  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

say  something  to  the  others.  One  guttural 
word  had  come  from  his  throat  when  Tom  was 
upon  him. 

He  seized  the  Slav  by  the  collar,  twisting 
him  from  his  feet,  then  flung  him  upon  the 
bar  to  which  he  had  pointed.  "Pick  ut  up," 
he  said  again  evenly. 

His  eyes  were  cold  now  and  a  hard  light 
played  on  them.  They  swept  to  the  other  four 
Slavs;  the  four  shrunk  from  them.  They 
went  back  swiftly  to  the  leader.  He  was 
scrambling  to  his  feet.  His  face  was  bleed 
ing  where  it  had  struck  the  dump.  In  his 
hand  he  clutched  a  stone.  Gaining  his  feet  he 
whirled  toward  Tom,  with  arm  upraised  be 
hind  his  shoulder.  Tom  looked  upon  him 
steadily.  The  Slav's  eyes  lowered  and  he 
dropped  the  missile. 

"Quick,"  Tom  ordered;  "pick  ut  up." 

The  Slav  glanced  toward  his  four  fellows. 
They  were  staring  sullenly  at  the  ground.  He 
bent  down  and  picked  up  the  bar. 

Tom  looked  toward  the  others.  "Come 
here,"  he  bade  them.  They  hesitated  a  bare 
instant.  Then  they  came  slowly.  He  ges 
tured  mutely  toward  the  rock;  they;  seized  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  29 

1 

bar  and  began  prying  it  over  the  dump. 
When  they  had  done  he  called  them  to  the 
next.  "This  wan  now,"  he  ordered.  To  his 
bidding  they  handled  the  trainload.  For 
some  moments  he  stood  looking  them  over.  "I 
boss,"  he  said  finally;  "mind  that." 


CHAPTER  IV; 

ONE  evening,  soon  after  his  assertion  of 
authority,  Tom  left  the  dining  hall  and  went 
alone  to  his  bunk.  It  was  still  daylight  and 
many  of  the  men  were  outside.  Sitting  in 
the  silent  room,  he  held  his  face  between  his 
two  big  hands,  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  The 
loneliness  of  his  life  was  heavy  upon  him.  As 
he  sat  there  the  grip  of  the  evening  seized  him, 
a  quiet  evening  when  sounds  came  mellowed 
from  long  distances.  He  left  the  darkened 
place  and  stood  outside  looking  at  the  moun 
tains. 

The  green  of  their  hemlocks  was  not  green 
to  him;  the  mountains  were  black  walls.  He 
started  walking  slowly  down  the  trail.  His 
hands  were  behind  his  back,  folded;  his  broad 
shoulders  bent  a  little  and  his  head  leaned  for 
ward.  He  was  looking  straight  before  him 
and  he  did  not  see  the  things  on  which  his 
eyes  fell.  The  air  was  damp  with  a  soft  breeze 
from  the  west,  a  breeze  from  the  sea,  whose 

30 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  31 

moisture  had  gathered  tribute  from  inland 
valleys  and  mountain  meadows  until  it  was 
laden  with  sweet  odors.  It  caressed  his  cheek 
like  soft,  cool  finger  tips.  Its  perfumes  bathed 
his  senses.  His  mind  went  far  away.  The 
Cartender,  on  his  way  to  the  bunk-house,  ran 
against  him  at  a  turn  in  the  path  and  recov 
ered  his  balance  with  some  difficulty. 

"Man!"  he  cried.  "Ye  have  a  heavy  fut. 
Ye  tromped  all  over  me.  What  is  ut  takes 
yer  eyes  from  where  ye're  goin'?" 

Tom  looked  at  him  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
the  words.  "Did  ye  iver  see  the  hills  of  Con- 
naught?"  he  asked. 

The  Cartender  grumbled  and  took  a  limp 
ing  step  beside  him,  looking  upward  at  his 
face.  "I  was  a  kid  when  me  father  left  the 
Old  Country,"  he  said  more  softly. 

"Grane,  grane  they  are,"  said  Tom.  "Ye 
nivver  see  ut  here;  so  grane  an'  saft  an'  low! 
Ah!  and  in  the  avenin'  ye  can  hear  the  little 
childer  callin'  from  far  off."  He  loosed  his 
big  hands  and  dropped  them  limply  to  his 
sides.  His  shoulders  straightened  and  he 
looked  at  The  Cartender  wistfully.  "Did  I 
thread  on  yer  fut?"  he  asked.  "I  was  thinkin' 


32  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

av  the  Ould  Counthry.  'Twas  somethin'  come 
over  me  to-night." 

The  Cartender  smiled — It  was  as  a  man 
smiles  at  a  boy — "Come  wit  me,"  he  said. 
"I'm  goin'  to  take  a  stroll  an'  watch  the  train 
come  in.  I've  a  letter  to  mail." 

When  the  Cartender  had  gotten  his  letter 
in  the  bunk-house  he  found  Tom  bending  over 
a  wooden  chest,  which  he  had  dragged  from 
beneath  his  bunk.  He  had  thrown  back  the 

* 

lid;  his  arms  were  elbow  deep  in  the  interior. 
As  The  Cartender  came  he  drew  out  a  coat. 
It  was  of  homespun  cloth,  a  coat  with  two 
long,  narrow  tails,  which  dangled  oddly,  with 
a  row  of  large  buttons  down  its  front.  Tom 
held  it  over  his  forearm  and  he  passed  the 
thick  fingers  of  his  other  hand  over  the  rough 
fabric,  caressing  it.  He  laid  it  softly  down 
on  the  bunk  and  began  groping  again  in  the 
chest.  Finally  he  brought  out  a  hat.  It  was 
a  curious  hat  of  stovepipe  pattern,  thick,  coarse 
gray  felt  narrowing  toward  the  crown,  with  a 
flaring  rim.  He  brushed  the  crown  around 
with  his  finger  tips,  smoothing  it,  and  his 
fingers  lingered  on  it  kindly.  Then  he  shut 
the  chest  and  rose. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  33 

The  Cartender  watched  him  curiously  as  he 
threw  off  his  working  coat  and  began  donning 
the  homespun  garment.  It  fitted  his  huge 
shoulders  tightly,  so  that  he  had  to  struggle  a 
little,  working  his  arms  into  the  sleeves.  The 
two  narrow  tails  dangled  from  his  waist. 
They  were  surmounted  by  two  of  the  large 
buttons.  The  Cartender's  eyes  widened  as 
Tom  turned  his  back  to  him.  Then  his  broad 
mouth  grew  broader;  he  started  to  articulate, 
but  stopped.  His  heavy  face  became  very 
grave.  Tom  picked  up  the  hat.  He  placed 
it  on  his  head  carefully,  so  that  the  tall  crown 
was  well  back  and  to  one  side.  He  faced  The 
Cartender,  who  was  gazing  at  him  now  in 
silence.  Finally: 

"Ye  brought  them  over?"  The  Cartender 
asked  politely. 

"Yis,"  said  Tom  soberly.  "They  were  me 
faather's." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  The  Cartender  thoughtfully. 
There  was  a  pause  and  The  Cartender  shuffled 
one  of  his  feet  irresolutely. 

"There's  a  bit  av  a  shtick  in  the  chist," 
said  Tom;  "a  bit  av  the  thorn.  'Twas  me 
faather's,  too.  But  I  notice  that  they  do  not 


34  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

be  carryin'  a  shtick  on  a  walk  av  an  evenin' 
here."  ' 

"No,"  said  The  Cartender.  "No;  they  do 
not."  He  scratched  his  head,  so  that  his  squam 
hat  tilted  forward  over  one  eye,  and  he  strug 
gled  inwardly. 

"  'Tis  a  pretty  pace  av  cloth,"  said  Tom._ 

"The  coat?"  asked  The  Cartender. 

"Yis,"  said  Tom. 

"Ye  do  not  see  them  often  here,"  said  The 
Cartender.  It  was  his  maiden  effort  at  tact; 
it  left  him  confused,  doubtful  whether  he  had 
said  too  much. 

"No,"  said  Tom;  "ye  do  not.  I  don't  ray- 
mimber  seein'  wan  since  I  landed."  His  eyes 
came  to  The  Cartender's  and  The  Cartender 
smiled  into  them  squarely,  very  kindly. 

"I  like  ut,"  he  said.  "My  father  had  wan 
like  ut.  I  mind  him  wearin'  ut  when  I  was  a 
kid,  in  the  avenin'."  He  started  toward  the 
door.  "We'd  best  be  movin'  on,  I  guess,"  he 
said  cheerfully. 

There  were  two  trains  a  day  at  Snowslide, 
one  from  the  east  and  one  from  the  west.  The 
latter  came  down  over  the  switchback  by  which 
the  road  now  crossed  the  mountain.  It  came 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  35 

i 

from  Seattle,  arriving  in  the  evening.  It 
brought  supplies  in  the  express  car,  and  fre 
quently  new  workingmen  in  the  smoker.  Be 
sides  these  recruits,  gathered  in  Seattle 
employment  offices,  there  were  usually  one  or 
two  passengers  of  importance,  engineers  or 
bosses,  returning  from  brief  vacations  in  the 
city.  Also  there  was  the  bundle  of  daily 
papers.  The  train's  brief  pause  was  a  main 
event  of  the  day;  it  was  like  the  halt  of  a 
passing  civilization,  at  which  the  crowd  on  the 
platform  might  gaze  through  the  windows. 
When  Tom  and  The  Cartender  neared  the 
depot  they  saw  that  the  place  was  jammed. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  older  drill  runners  were 
laughing  together  on  the  edge  of  the  plat 
form;  near  them  a  few  muckers,  heavy-faced, 
silent,  awkward  in  posture.  There  were  a 
dozen  or  more  from  the  town:  the  postmas 
ter,  a  storekeeper,  a  pair  of  saloonmen  and  a 
group  of  gamblers;  these  last,  white-handed, 
long-fingered  men,  with  faces  that  bore  un 
healthy  pallor.  Two  civil  engineers  in  khaki 
and  laced  boots  gossipped  in  the  baggage 
room  with  Gunnysack  Ryan.  The  superin 
tendent  was  without  his  high  rubber  boots  this 


36  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

evening.  He  wore  in  their  stead  shoes  that 
shone  lustrously;  and  he  had  on  a  black  suit, 
with  carefully  creased  trousers.  His  diamond 
glistened  from  a  spotless  linen  shirt  front. 

"He's  come  to  meet  his  wife  an'  girl,"  said 
The  Cartender.  "He  thinks  the  world  of  his 
women  folk,  does  The  Old  Man.  They're 
the  only  ones  c'n  boss  him." 

They  were  passing  close  by  the  hard-faced 
drill  runners  now,  elbowing  their  way  into  the 
crowd.  Someone  noticed  Tom  and  exclaimed 
aloud.  There  was  a  laugh.  Looking  up, 
Tom  saw  himself  surrounded  by  broadly  smil 
ing  faces.  As  he  went  by  the  wide  door  of 
the  baggage  room  he  heard  a  sudden  oath  from 
Ryan.  Glancing  in,  he  saw  the  intolerant 
gray  eyes,  intolerant  no  longer,  wide  with 
astonishment.  A  long  whistle  sounded  up  the 
track  and  his  attention,  with  the  others',  flew 
to  the  approaching  train. 

A  moment  later  it  roared  among  them; 
halted  with  a  grind  of  brakeshoes  on  wheels; 
and  stood,  the  locomotive  panting,  the  air  sob 
bing  in  the  pipes.  Baggage  crashed  upon  the 
platform.  Tom  watched  a  handful  of  rough- 
clad  men  struggling  with  huge  blanket  rolls 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  37 

on  the  steps  of  the  smoker.  They  were  hard- 
eyed  men  and  they  cursed  wantonly  as  they 
fought  with  their  luggage.  Something  made 
him  turn  his  eyes  toward  the  rear  of  the  train. 

The  Old  Man  was  helping  two  women  from 
the  steps  of  the  nearest  Pullman.  As  Tom 
looked,  Ryan  handed  a  dollar  to  the  bowing 
porter;  then  he  kissed  the  two  women,  and  the 
three  of  them  walked  together  down  the  plat 
form.  Tom  stood  transfixed;  Ryan  held  him 
staring.  The  man  had  changed  completely; 
his  whole  bearing  was  different.  He  walked 
between  the  two  women,  and  the  wide  mastery 
had  gone  from  his  stride;  he  was  trying  to  fit 
his  steps  to  theirs.  And  his  eyes  had  changed; 
it  was  as  though  they  had  been  tamed,  as 
though  the  intolerance  that  usually  looked 
from  them  were  a  horse  that  had  been  suddenly 
broken  and  bridled  and  was  now  being  driven 
sedately.  He  bent  his  head  to  talk  and  to 
listen,  and  every  line  of  his  huge  figure  spoke 
deference.  These  were  his  women. 

Tom  noticed  the  elder;  she  was  tall  and  her 
shoulders  were  wide  like  a  man's.  She  wore 
expensive  ready  made  clothing.  Her  face  was 
hard-skinned  and  red,  as  though  it  had  been 


38  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

roughly  rubbed.  It  was  lined  with  the  lines 
that  come  from  years  of  work;  the  lips  were 
very  firm.  She  talked  to  The  Old  Man,  quick, 
short  words,  and  he  hearkened,  bending  his 
head.  Tom  looked  at  the  other,  the  younger 
one,  and  his  eyes  dropped  before  hers.  She 
was  laughing  at  him. 

Her  full,  young  lips  curved  mirthfully  and 
her  wide,  brown  eyes  were  alight  with  amuse 
ment.  She  was  not  more  than  eighteen;  the 
unworn  bloom  was  on  her  cheeks;  and  the 
laughing  eyes  beneath  the  mass  of  auburn  hair 
still  had  that  softness  which  endures  but  a  few 
years  after  childhood's  passing.  Hair  and 
eyes  and  transparent  skin,  beneath  which  the 
color  fluttered  swiftly,  were  like  a  bit  of  his 
old  land  brought  before  him.  And  yet  he  saw 
that  she  was  laughing  at  the  things  he  wore, 
the  hat  and  coat.  He  realized  it  now,  what 
the  others  had  been  laughing  at.  The  knowl 
edge  made  him  redden,  a  blush  of  mortification 
that  was  not  shame,  and  of  anger.  It  was  as 
though  she  had  laughed  at  him  for  wearing  a 
bit  of  green.  He  looked  up  at  her,  this 
thought  in  his  eyes,  and  then  he  looked  away, 
reddening  again.  This  time  the  mortification 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  39 

was  centered  upon  himself.  For  his  glance 
had  found  her — still  smiling — with  wonder  on 
her  face,  and  it  had  left  her,  half  startled,  half 
hurt.  It  was  as  though  he,  a  stranger,  had 
stepped  up  to  her  and  had  spoken  a  rude  word 
of  reprimand.  He  turned  and  walked  away. 

"Look  at  the  hat!" 

He  whirled  with  narrowed  eyes  toward 
whence  the  voice  had  come  and  faced  the  group 
of  drill  runners.  He  scanned  every  face 
steadily — there  were  a  dozen  in  the  circle,  some 
of  them  men  whom  he  had  heard  "driving  tun 
nel"  around  the  bunk-house  stove,  among  these 
Big  Jerry  and  The  Gunner.  They  met  his 
gaze  with  suddenly  aroused  scowls.  Finally 
he  halted  in  his  search;  he  had  found  the  man. 
He  was  one  of  the  rough-clad  men  whom  Tom 
had  seen  leaving  the  smoking  car.  His  huge 
roll  of  blankets  lay  beside  him  on  the  platform. 
Near  him  stood  a  number  of  his  fellows. 
Among  the  reckless-featured  men  of  Snow- 
slide  these  newcomers  were  a  hard-faced 
crew,  hard  and  reckless  to  the  point  of  fierce 
ness.  And  of  their  faces  this  man's  was  most 
deeply  lined  between  the  brows  and  around  the 
lip  ends.  There  was  something  wanton  about 


40  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

its  scowl.  The  heavy-browed  eyes  were  a  little 
bleared.  It  was  not  the  blear  of  drink;  rather 
that  goes  before  drink — the  white-gray  ob 
scuration  of  violence.  His  black  hair  hung 
straight  over  his  low,  seamed  forehead.  He 
was  bigger  than  any  of  them,  bigger  than 
Jerry  Morley,  as  large  a  man  as  Tom.  And 
the  men  around  fell  silent  as  these  two  looked 
at  each  other,  with  heads  thrust  slightly  for 
ward. 

They  looked  steadily;  and  then,  as  Tom  was 
opening  his  mouth  to  speak  the  word  that 
would  have  brought  issue,  Jerry  Morley 
clapped  him  on  the  back. 

"Never  mind,  lad,"  he  cried  good-naturedly; 
"ferget  ut.  That  hat  is  better  Irish  than  the 
man  that  said  ut.  I'd  be  proud  to  wear  ut  St. 
Patrick's  day  meself ,  an'  so  wud  he." 

The  drill  runners  laughed.  The  upper  lips 
of  nearly  all  of  them  were  long,  and  their 
mirth  was  good-natured.  But  Tom's  eyes  still 
remained  narrowed.  It  was  the  group  of  lead- 
faced  gamblers  that  saved  a  clash.  Standing 
nearby,  they  had  heard  everything,  and  now 
they  crowded  round,  eager  for  the  promised 
quarrel.  Big  Jerry  turned  on  them. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  41 

"Army  of  you  tinhorns  lookin'  fer  trouble?" 
he  inquired  elaborately. 

The  other  runners  whirled  with  him.  The 
most  of  them  had  good  cause  to  dislike  these 
men,  who  came  to  the  camp  once  a  month,  and 
departed  always  with  a  good  share  of  their 
earnings.  They  growled  at  the  gamblers  and 
forgot  Tom. 

The  engine  bell  had  ceased  a  brief  interval 
of  clanging.  There  was  a  sigh  of  air  from 
the  brakes ;  the  train  began  to  move.  The  Car- 
tender  came  hurrying  from  the  mail  car  where 
he  had  posted  his  letter.  The  gamblers  were 
leaving  now  in  close  order  pursued  by  the  gibes 
of  the  drill  runners.  Tom  went  in  silence  up 
the  track  with  The  Cartender. 

Finally  The  Cartender  spoke.  "Did  ye  see 
The  Old  Man  when  his  wife  got  hold  of  him?" 
he  asked.  "She's  the  wan  boss  he  has.  He 
thinks  the  world  of  his  women  folk,  does  Gun- 
nysack.  That  girl  of  his  is  growin'  up  to  be 
as  big  as  the  Old  woman."  Tom  made  no  an 
swer.  The  Cartender  looked  at  him,  "What's 
on  yer  mind?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  grane,"  said  Tom  slowly;  he  was 
^taring  straight  ahead. 


42  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

The  Cartender  was  silent  now.  Tom  walked 
on  thinking.  Snddenly  he  burst  out,  "For 
why  should  the  Irish  be  afther  laughin'  at  the 
things  av  their  own  land,  answer  me  that?" 

"There  was  no  man  laughed  but  would  fight 
fer  them  same  things,  Lad,"  said  The  Car- 
tender,  "Not  wan  of  them." 

But  Tom  was  not  thinking  of  the  drill  run 
ners. 

Behind  the  two  of  them  The  Old  Man,  walk 
ing  with  his  women,  looked  at  Tom  and 
chuckled,  "There's  the  greenest  Mick  since  I 
landed  at  Castle  Garden  wit  me  bundle  on  a 
stick,"  he  said,  "Luk  at  that  hat!" 

His  wife  laughed  kindly,  "Poor  bye,"  she 
said,  "He's  sick  now  for  the  Old  Country  I 
do  be  thinkin'.  Luk,  Nora,  at  that  coat.  'Tis 
the  sort  yer  grandfather  wore  on  a  market 
day." 

Nora  was  looking.  She  was  thinking,  not 
of  the  coat,  but  of  the  tall,  straight  back  be 
neath  it,  the  bigness  of  the  man,  and  the  eyes 
that  had  rebuked  her  masterfully.  She  said 
nothing. 

"Them  Cceur  d'Aleners,"  The  Cartender 
was  saying,  "Ye  saw  them?" 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  43 

"Who  do  ye  mane?"  asked  Tom. 

"That  new  bunch  of  runners,"  said  The  Car- 
tender,  "Ye  had  some  words  wit  wan  of  them, 
Big  Kennedy.  What  was  ut?" 

Tom's  face  darkened.  "He  laughed  at  me," 
said  he. 

"He's  tough,"  said  The  Cartender,  "Him 
an'  his  gang.  The  Dynamiter,  they  call  him; 
he  was  here  once  before.  Now  he's  brought 
the  drove  of  them  back  wit  him.  They  blowed 
up  a  mill  somewheres  back  in  Idaho  an'  they're 
here  wit  bum  names.  They're  a  hard  gang; 
but  The  Dynamiter,  Kennedy  he  calls  himself, 
is  a  good  runner.  He  can  pull  the  rock.  An' 
he  c'n  fight.  Best  lave  him  be." 

In  the  bunk-house  Tom  dragged  out  his 
wooden  chest  and  opened  it.  He  took  his  coat 
in  his  hands  a  moment  and  stroked  it  tenderly 
before  he  laid  it  in  its  place,  carefully  folding 
back  the  two  thin  tails  over  the  body  of  it  that 
they  might  not  wrinkle.  Then  he  took  the 
hat;  he  held  it  longer  than  he  had  the  coat. 
As  his  thick  fingers  passed  over  the  rough 
crown  he  felt  the  soft,  damp  breeze  of  an  Irish 
evening  and  he  saw  long,  low  hills  rolling  back 
from  a  wide  river,  soft,  green  hills  melting 


44  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

into  a  softer  sky.  He  lowered  his  big  face 
close  to  the  hat,  and  to  his  nostrils  there  came 
faintly  like  an  old  memory  the  odor  of  peat 
smoke.  He  saw  a  hearth  where  red  embers 
glowed  steadily  and  a  low-beamed  ceiling.  He 
was  on  his  knees  beside  the  chest.  He  stayed 
there  for  some  time  bending  over  the  hat. 
Then  he  placed  it  carefully  away  and  shut  the 
lid. 


CHAPTER  V 

"WHAT  are  ye  lookin'  at?"  The  Walker 
asked  the  Outside  Boss  the  next  morning". 
The  Outside  Boss  was  sitting  on  a  pile  of  tim 
ber  half  way  down  the  dump.  He  beckoned 
The  Walker  to  a  seat  beside  him  and  pointed 
to  the  place  where  Tom  and  the  five  Slavs  were 
working,  one  hundred  feet  away. 

"Well?"  said  The  Walker.  The  Outside 
Boss  repeated  the  gesture. 

"I'm  watchin'  that  big  MicK,  Jack,"  said  he, 
"Some  day  there's  goin'  to  be  the  devil  to  pay 
on  this  dump." 

The  Walker  looked  at  Tom,  who  was  stand 
ing,  his  part  of  the  work  done,  pointing  to  a 
patch  of  muck.  And  as  he  looked  The  Walker 
saw  one  of  the  Slavs  begin  shoveling  this  over 
the  side. 

"Who  is  that  tarrier?"  he  asked. 

"A  green  lad,"  said  the  Outside  Boss,  "Two 
mont's  over  an'  a  matter  of  a  month  on  the 

45 


46  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

job.  Them  Polacks  tried  to  ride  him  at  first; 
Now  luk  at  him." 

"He'd  best  watch  where  he  goes  after  dark," 
said  The  Walker,  "Why  don't  ye  send  him 
inside?" 

"I  tried  to,"  said  the  Outside  Boss,  "Two 
days  ago  I  told  him  he'd  have  trouble  wit 
them,  an'  he  says:  'Av  ye  plaze  Sor,'  said  he, 
Td  like  to  shtay  a  whoile;  I'll  not  let  thim 
dhrive  me  afF.'  "  He  mimicked  Tom's  brogue 
with  the  love  an  Irishman  has  for  it. 

Tom  leaned  on  his  shovel  handle  watching 
the  Slav  finish  the  work.  The  other  four 
Slavs  held  their  eyes  upon  the  ground  and  were 
stealing  glances  at  the  pair  from  the  corners 
of  them.  Their  sweating  countryman  was  the 
largest  of  them,  the  slant-eyed  leader  whom 
Tom  had  compelled  to  pick  up  the  bar.  He 
scowled  as  he  threw  the  muck  from  his 
shovel. 

Watching  the  man,  Tom  realized  the  price 
of  mastery.  He  had  asserted  himself  to  get 
his  rights,  and  now  he  could  not  relax.  He 
had  to  rule  to  keep  his  place.  It  was  the 
knowledge  of  sullen  rebellion  ready  to  Kreak 
out  whenever  he  gave  it  a  chance  that  had 


THE    HARD   ROCK   MAN  47 

made  him  refuse  the  offer  of  the  Outside 
Boss  to  get  him  on  the  muck  gang  at  the  foot 
of  the  bench.  He  had  denied  himself  his  own 
wish  to  go  inside  the  tunnel  from  an  aversion 
toward  leaving  while  his  authority  was  in  any 
wise  questioned.  And  so  the  Outside  Boss  had 
clapped  him  on  the  back  crying,  "Stay  and 
welcome,  Lad,  but  make  them  fight  in  daytime. 
Hammer  hell  out  o'  them  in  the  day;  an'  luk 
where  ye  go  at  night." 

And  he  had  waited  while  the  month's  last 
'days  had  passed.  They  were  dreary  days,  al 
ways  the  five  backs  toward  him,  always  the 
five  averted  faces,  the  eyes  stealing  sidelong 
glances  from  the  ground,  always  the  talk  in 
low  toned  gutterals  which  he  could  not  under 
stand,  whose  import  he  could  not  help  but  feel. 
They  never  laughed  now. 

Often  in  the  bunk-house  he  had  noticed  them 
sitting  in  their  own  corner  with  their  eyes  upon 
him,  five  pairs  of  eyes  watching  him  sullenly 
while  he  sat  beside  The  Cartender  listening  to 
the  drill  runners  "drive  tunnel."  The  Car- 
tender  had  noticed  it  too. 

"Where  were  ye?"  he  had  asked  one  even 
ing. 


48  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

"Afther  a  bit  av  tobacco  at  the  commissary," 
said  Tom. 

"Yer  friends,  what  did  they  get?"  inquired 
The  Cartender  jerking  his  thumb  toward  the 
corner  where  the  Slavs  usually  sat.  It  was 
empty. 

"Two  nights  ago,"  said  The  Cartender,  "ye 
mind  ye  went  for  them  socks?  Well,  they 
went  too.  Luk  there  now !"  One  of  the  Slavs 
was  entering  the  bunk-house.  A  moment  later 
another  followed;  then  the  rest. 

And  so  the  thing  had  gone,  an  impending 
crisis  that  had  made  Tom  chafe. 

This  was  payday  morning.  In  the  evening 
he  would  get  his  first  check.  The  thought 
dominated  him  and  made  him  feel  kindly 
toward  all  the  world.  It  made  him  prone  to 
forget  details  about  him.  As  he  shoveled  he 
smiled  frequently.  And  even  as  he  smiled  this 
thing  had  happened — He  had  seen  the  little 
heap  of  muck  which  the  leader  had  left  un 
touched;  and  then,  while  the  two  bosses 
watched,  he  had  made  the  man  shovel  it  away. 

All  that  morning  men  passed  on  their  ways 
to  join  the  long  line  before  the  station  agent's 
window.  The  groups  were  laughing  and  jest- 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  49 

ing  and  some  of  them  called  out  to  the  out 
side  gang.  From  where  Tom  worked  he  could 
see  the  town,  a  row  of  flimsy,  unpainted 
wooden  buildings,  for  the  most  part  dance 
halls  and  saloons.  They  were  surmounted  by 
gaudily  painted  canvas  signs.  During  the 
month  this  had  been  a  silent  place.  Now  it 
was  filling  up.  Men  passed  to  and  fro  along 
the  railed  sidewalk ;  they  hurried  in  and  out  of 
the  wide-open  doors. 

A  little  after  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
the  day  shift  leaped  from  the  cars  of  the  out- 
coming  muck  train  and  ran  down  the  dump, 
a  clamorous  crowd.  From  among  them  came 
laughter ;  the  deep  voices  were  cheerful.  Tom 
watched  them  rushing  by  and  caught  the  cheer. 
His  check  was  waiting  at  the  depot — it  was 
the  day  he  reaped — his  first  check.  All  of  it 
was  his.  He  knew  the  amount  to  a  cent. 
With  The  Cartender's  help  he  had  figured  out 
the  deductions  of  board  and  commissary  bills, 
and  knew  what  would  be  left — the  balance,  his 
savings.  He  thought  of  that.  The  world 
was  bright — clean  sunshine  and  fresh  air.  He 
smiled  as  he  worked. 

The  Slavs  saw  him.     Even  they  seemed  to 


50  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

have  caught  the  spirit  now.  The  leader 
crooked  back  his  lips  before  his  yellow  teeth 
and  pointed  toward  a  group  of  belated  muck 
ers  hurrying  after  the  day  shift. 

"Plenta  monaay,  hey?"  the  slant-eyed  man 
cried. 

"You  bet,"  said  Tom.  He  was  becoming 
proud  of  his  Americanisms. 

There  were  many  empty  places  in  the  dining 
hall  that  night.  Fully  half  the  men  were  down 
town.  After  supper  Tom  hurried  to  the  sta 
tion.  On  his  way  he  heard  a  piano  thumping 
and  from  somewhere  among  the  row  of  wooden 
buildings  came  a  long,  loud  whoop.  When 
he  had  gotten  his  check  from  the  agent,  weary 
with  several  hundred  such  payments,  he  hur 
ried  to  the  nearest  saloon  and  cashed  it.  Then 
he  went  to  the  post  office. 

Daulton,  the  postmaster,  was  also  the  camp's 
druggist.  Although  the  company  had  a  hos 
pital  and  a  surgeon  at  the  other  portal,  Daul 
ton  was  known  in  Snowslide  as  "The  Doctor." 
It  was  his  semi-official  title.  He  had  borne  it 
for  many  years — in  the  days  of  construction, 
when  his  drug-store  had  been  an  institution 
of  every  large  camp  from  the  Rockies  to 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  51 

Puget  Sound.  He  was  English  born;  he  al 
ways  wore  loud-patterned  tweeds  and  was  im 
maculate  as  to  his  linen.  His  manner  was  a 
mingling  of  dignity  and  affability,  of  con 
descension,  incumbent  upon  his  position  and 
semi-comradeship  which  stood  him  in  good 
stead  as  a  tradesman.  He  had  one  great  ad 
vantage  in  this  latter  respect:  His  position 
of  postmaster  allowed  him  to  know  the  name 
of  every  man  in  camp.  He  greeted  Tom 
punctiliously  from  behind  the  counter. 

".Good  evening,  Mr.  Morton,"  he  said  bow 
ing  gravely.  "A  fine  evening." 

Tom  grinned.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  anyone  had  ever  prefixed  the  title 
"Mister"  to  his  name,  and  The  Doctor's  man 
ner  flattered  him.  "Good  avenin'  to  ye,  Sor," 
he  replied. 

The  memory  of  that  "Mister"  bothered  him 
a  little ;  he  was  not  altogether  at  his  ease. 

"What  is  there  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Mor 
ton?"  The  Doctor  asked. 

"I  c&me  to  buy  wan  av  thim  postal  ordhers," 
said  Tom.  "  'Tis  a  good  way  to  put  by  yer 
money,  I'm  tould." 

"Ah  yes."     The  Doctor  straightened  and 


52  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

became  official  at  once.  "It  is  indeed.  But 
we  can't  do  that  now,  Mr.  Morton,  the  hours 
are  from  eight  until  five." 

Tom  was  perplexed.  The  Doctor  saw  his 
disappointment.  He  had  seen  the  incident  of 
the  station  platform  where  Tom  had  faced 
Kennedy  and  he  had  heard  the  Outside  Boss 
tell  of  the  domination  of  the  five  Slavs  by  this 
raw  hand.  And  among  other  things  The 
Doctor  admired  a  fighter;  it  was  almost  awe 
some,  this  admiration,  born  of  love  for  boxing 
matches.  Already  he  had  regarded  Tom  as 
a  possibility  in  this  line.  For  this  reason  he 
resolved  to  extend  small  favors. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "that  is  the  law, 
and  if  I  were  to  let  down  the  bars  I  would  get 
into  trouble."  He  smiled  at  Tom  across  the 
counter;  "But  in  your  case,"  he  said  impres 
sively,  "I  don't  mind  making  an  exception." 
While  he  showed  Tom  how  to  make  out  the 
application,  he  looked  at  the  big  arms  and  body, 
and  imagined  them  stripped.  "My  word!"  he 
muttered,  "My  word!  What  beef!  And  a 
good  eye,  a  good,  steady  eye!" 

"There  we  are,"  he  said  aloud  and  handed 
over  the  blue  paper  slip.  "Keep  that,  Mr. 
Morton,  and  when  you  want  your  money  you 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  53 

can  cash  it  here.  A  wise  thing;  you  won't 
find  many  doing  it.  What  part  of  Ireland 
are  you  from?" 

"From  Galway,  Sor,"  said  Tom. 

"Ah,  Galway,"  said  The  Doctor,  "a  beauti 
ful  county.  I  was  in  Galway  twenty  years 
ago."  He  talked  of  the  green  hills  rolling 
back  from  the  Shannon  and  Tom's  heart 
warmed.  "Good  avenin'  Sor,"  he  said,  depart 
ing. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Morton,"  Hade  The 
Doctor.  "That  money  order,  a  wise  move. 
You'll  be  rich  some  day.  My  word!" 

Tom  caught  the  twinkle  in  his  eye  and 
grinned.  "  'Tis  jokin'  ye  are!"  he  cried,  and 
they  both  laughed  together. 

He  was  cheerful  with  the  whole  world  to 
night.  This  talk  of  home — And  his  savings 
were  in  his  pocket,  the  blue  slip,  the  concrete 
realization  of  many  dreams.  It  was  a  good 
country,  this  strange  land,  for  all  its  frown 
ing  mountains,  a  place  where  he  could  earn 
and  save,  where  others  had  risen  to  mastery 
of  men. 

Passing  the  saloons  he  gazed  curiously  into 
their  wide-open  doors.  The  long  interiors 
blazed  with  light;  they  were  alive  with  men. 


54  THE    HARD   ROCK   MAN 

Rough  faces  were  upturned  toward  the  flaring 
lamps,  some  of  them  faces  he  had  seen  around 
the  bunk-house  stove.  Rough  voices  arose  in 
laughter  or  loud  anger.  The  places  roared 
tumult.  He  stared  at  it  all.  And  once  he 
stood  rooted  before  a  doorway  where  a  bare 
headed  woman  in  a  loose  red  gown  screamed 
a  song  at  the  cold,  clean  stars. 

He  picked  his  way  across  the  dump  and  up 
the  hill  to  the  boarding  camp.  The  bunk- 
house  was  silent;  the  benches  around  the  stove 
were  empty.  As  he  entered,  the  heading  fore 
man  came  from  his  office  and  went  on  out  into 
the  night.  In  their  corner,  close  together, 
heads  bent  to  a  common  center,  sat  the  five 
Slavs.  They  were  talking  in  their  own 
tongue.  Immediately  upon  his  entrance  they 
raised  their  eyes  and  stopped  talking.  Then 
the  outer  door  slammed  shut  behind  the  head 
ing  foreman  and  there  was  silence. 

Tom  went  to  his  bunk.  He  sat  down  on 
the  edge.  A  laugh  made  him  look  around. 
It  came  from  the  five  Slavs  in  the  corner.  As 
he  looked  one  of  the  group  said  a  low  word. 
They  laughed  again.  The  leader  arose  and 
came  toward  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  the  slant-eyed  leader  came  toward  Tom's 
bunk  the  other  four  Slavs  rose  from  their  seats. 
Tom  sprang  to  his  feet. 

In  the  instant  that  he  sprang  his  nostrils 
caught  the  smell  of  iodoform,  a  common  odor 
in  the  camp  where  someone  was  always  hurt; 
and  afterwards  whenever  the  smell  came  to 
him  it  brought  a  picture.  It  was  as  though 
his  eyes  at  this  time  took  a  photograph  which 
this  particular  touch  upon  his  senses  invariably 
reproduced,  a  photograph  in  poise: — Five 
men,  one  man  ahead,  four  men  a  pace  behind. 
The  five  were  bareheaded,  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  their  shirts  open  on  their  chests.  The 
leader  was  stooping  slightly  forward  in  the  act 
of  stepping.  His  thin  shirt  fluttered  with  an 
indrawn  breath  and  as  the  chest  rose  behind 
it  the  heavy  mat  of  hair  thrust  beyond  the 
parted  cloth;  then  it  fell  away  again.  His 
arms  hung  ahead  of  his  short,  thick  body,  to  a 
little  beyond  his  bowed  knees,  slightly  bent. 

55 


56  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

The  knotted  fists  were  clenched.  The  slanting 
eyes  glittered  and  the  lips  twisted  away  before 
the  crooked  yellow  teeth — a  warped  man  with 
arms  too  long  and  a  forehead  like  an  animal's. 

The  four  men  behind  were  half -crouching 
like  their  leader,  their  arms  hanging  down  by 
their  knees.  One  of  them,  a  black  haired  man 
whose  frame  was  slightest,  was  a  little  to  one 
side.  Tom  remembered  afterward  that  of  all, 
his  attitude  was  least  eager,  most  sure.  The 
incandescent  lamp  by  the  stove  was  swinging 
slowly,  shifting  shadows  and  high  lights  upon 
them.  Their  faces  caught  the  high  lights  and 
stood  out,  big-boned,  beneath  the  gleaming 
eyes.  Then  the  shadow  obscured  them  and 
the  long  arms  showed,  hanging  low,  crooked. 

Tom  stood  erect,  his  head  and  shoulders 
loomed  above  the  upper  bunk  beside  him.  His 
head  was  bare  and  his  thick  brown  hair  was  in 
some  disorder  of  half -curls.  His  coat  hung 
loose;  he  was  fumbling  with  one  hand  at  the 
lower  button.  His  eyes  were  almost  half 
closed;  and  they  were  steady;  the  shifting  light 
played  upon  them,  glinting  from  them  as  from 
metal.  Thus  they  stood,  the  one  man  and  the 
five,  ten  feet  between  them. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  57 

The  instant  passed;  the  Slav  leader  swung 
his  foot  and  bent  forward  into  a  quickened 
stride,  a  half  leap.  Tom  caught  the  button 
of  his  coat  to  place.  At  once  his  arms  flew 
up,  fists  forward,  elbows  out  from  his  sides. 
He  sprang  across  the  interval  between  him  and 
the  slant-eyed  leader. 

It  was  sudden,  without  warning  of  attitude, 
from  erectness  of  posture  to  half -double ;  from 
stillness  to  a  leap — an  instantaneous  change. 
He  charged  and  the  advantage  of  offensive 
passed  to  him.  He  spanned  the  ten  feet  in 
two  strides. 

As  Tom  sprang  the  Slav  realized  the  change. 
Instinctively  he  faltered,  a  brief  hesitation. 
His  body  straightened  and  his  two  fists  raised 
toward  his  head.  It  was  a  posture  almost  of 
defense.  And  while  he  was  in  the  act  of  tak 
ing  it,  Tom  was  upon  him. 

Tom's  fist  shot  forward  while  the  Slav  was 
again  collecting  himself  for  deliverance  of  a 
blow.  It  struck  him  fairly  upon  the  snarling 
mouth.  The  man  left  his  feet,  his  body 
hurtled  through  the  air,  and  he  crashed  upon 
the  floor. 

Like  their  leader  the  four  Slavs  had  faltered 


58  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

as  Tom  sprang.  For  an  instant  they  too,  had 
stood  half -irresolutely.  As  Tom  struck  they 
had  recovered,  and  the  blow  had  hardly  been 
delivered  before  three  of  them  sprang  upon 
him.  They  caught  him  with  his  arms  still  ex 
tended  from  his  body.  One  grasped  him 
round  the  waist;  Tom  shook  him  off  and  the 
man  fell  still  gripping  his  legs.  The  two  others 
flew  at  his  throat.  One  of  them  struck  wildly 
out  as  he  came,  the  other  ran  in,  head  down, 
his  fingers  clutching  desperately.  Tom  wres 
tled  trying  to  tear  them  away.  The  leader 
was  struggling  to  rise  from  the  floor  now;  his 
breath  sobbed  in  his  open  mouth.  The  black- 
haired  man  remained  apart,  half  crouching, 
watching  them  in  silence. 

Then  there  began  a  struggle  that  shook  the 
building.  The  two  Slavs  clung  to  Tom  and 
their  feet  swung  clear  from  the  bunk-house 
floor  as  he  tried  to  toss  them  from  him.  The 
warped  fingers  of  one  were  twisting  at  his 
throat;  the  other  hung  to  his  right  arm  snarl 
ing  in  the  effort  to  climb  inward.  Tom  shook 
his  shoulders  like  a  huge  bull  and  raised  his 
arm  to  fling  its  incubus  away.  lAjs  he  did  so 
the  man  at  his  legs  tugged  with  all  the  strength 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  59 

that  was  in  him  and  Tom  tottered  almost  fall 
ing.  Recovering  his  balance  he  freed  one  foot 
from  the  embrace;  then  swung  it  back  and 
kicked  with  all  his  force.  The  booted  sole 
istruck  full  on  the  Slav's  jaw;  he  fell  back 
limp. 

Unhampered  now,  Tom  sprang  backward 
and  swept  his  arms  apart.  The  two  strug 
gling  men  went  back  with  them.  He  brought 
his  arms  together  with  the  two  men  in  them 
and  one  of  them  dropped  heavily  at  his  feet. 
The  leader  who  had  risen,  watched  it,  then 
sprang  at  Tom's  waist,  head  forward.  Be 
fore  the  momentum  of  this  charge  Tom  went 
down  carrying  with  him  this  new  assailant  and 
the  man  who  still  hung  to  his  throat.  The 
three  crashed  among  the  benches  by  the  stove. 
They  rolled  over,  a  struggling  heap,  carrying 
two  of  the  benches  with  them  and  suddenly 
Tom  felt  the  thick  fingers  slipping  from  his 
throat.  He  broke  from  the  embrace  of  the 
arms  around  his  waist  and  started  to  rise.  As 
he  was  gaining  his  feet  he  saw  the  two  Slavs 
crawl  away  from  him;  they  ran  toward  the 
bunk-house  door.  Then  he  saw  the  black- 
haired  man  coming  toward  him. 


60  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

The  black-haired  Slav  was  coming  slowly, 
stooping  forward;  his  right  arm  was  out 
stretched  almost  full  length.  Something 
gleaned  in  the  hand,  something  metallic. 
From  it  came  a  long,  red  spit  of  fire.  There 
was  a  loud  crash  and  then  the  smell  of  burning 
powder.  Smoke  rose  in  a  thick  cloud.  In 
the  instant  Tom  realized  that  he  had  seen  the 
weapon  and  that  the  shot  had  missed.  Beside 
him  lay  one  of  the  overturned  benches,  upended 
across  another.  He  bent  down  swiftly,  seized 
the  bench  in  both  hands,  and,  raising  it  over 
his  head  he  hurled  it  at  the  dim  shape  in  the 
midst  of  the  smoke-cloud. 

The  bench  hurtled  through  the  wreathing 
smoke,  and  as  the  wreaths  parted,  eddying 
round  it,  Tom  saw  the  black-haired  man  stoop 
and  let  it  pass.  Then  the  Slav  straightened, 
and  his  arm  thrust  forward  again  in  deadly 
motion,  like  a  striking  snake.  The  revolver 
barrel  gleamed,  swinging  in  a  half  circle;  it 
became  fixed  and  the  warped  finger  crooked 
around  the  trigger.  Tom  felt  a  mighty  blow 
upon  his  chest.  He  knew  that  he  was  falling 
with  the  roar  of  the  report  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  OLD  MAN  and  Jack  Tarpy,  The  Walk 
er,  were  standing  on  "D"  quarters'  steps  dis 
cussing  Tarpy's  one  failing.  The  Old  Man 
was  talking,  "I'll  have  ye  know,"  said  he,  "that 
what  drinkin's  done,  I'll  do.  Down  to  Leaven- 
worth  there  is  a  priest,  and  there  we  go,  ye  and 
me,  and  ye'll  take  the  pledge.  That's — " 

They  both  stiffened,  "Where  the  hell  was 
that?"  cried  The  Walker.  "In  the  bunk- 
houses,"  Ryan  shouted.  "I'll  twist  the  head 
from  the  ruffian  did  ut!" 

They  ran  together  down  the  steps  and  up 
the  hiU.  The  Old  Man  forged  ahead.  With 
agility  out  of  all  keeping  with  his  weight  he 
kept  his  lead  climbing  the  narrow  path.  The 
Walker  panted  at  his  heels.  The  crack  of  a 
second  shot  came  to  them  as  they  ran. 

"B  quarters,"  Tarpy  shouted.  Ryan  barked 
an  oath  over  his  shoulder  and  increased  his 
stride.  He  reached  the  bunk-house  steps, 

61 


62  THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

leaped  to  their  top,  and  without  wasting  time 
to  turn  the  knob,  burst  in  the  door. 

,The  room  was  hazed  with  smoke.  In  the 
fog,  dim  figures  moved,  bent  low.  Ryan 
rushed  toward  the  thickest  of  the  hanging 
wreaths  where  he  made  out  something  in  a 
huddle  on  the  floor.  A  man  brushed  by  him 
gliding  toward  the  door;  Ryan  caught  the 
gleam  of  a  pistol  barrel,  "Stop  him,  Jack!" 
he  shouted,  and  Tarpy  entering,  seized  the 
black-haired  Slav  by  the  throat  and  right  wrist, 
twisting  the  arm  until  he  heard  it  crack.  The 
weapon  dropped  heavily  on  the  boards.  "Not 
so  fast,"  he  grunted,  and  hurled  the  man  from 
him,  among  the  benches.  "We'll  see  what's 
here  first."  He  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
revolver.  "Now!"  he  called,  "stand  fast!" 
He  circled  the  room  with  its  muzzle  and  began 
collecting  the  five  Slavs  in  a  group  as  a  high 
wayman  lines  up  his  victims. 

Ryan  was  dragging  Tom  toward  a  bunk. 
"What  is  this?"  he  demanded.  The  door 
swung  open  as  he  was  asking  the  question  and 
half  a  dozen  of  the  drill  runners  who  had  been 
drawn  to  the  place  by  the  noise  of  the  shots, 
entered.  Tarpy  called  to  them ;  "Here  Jerry," 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  63 

he  ordered,  "you  an'  Gunner,  come  and  lend  a 
hand.  Get  these  five  into  the  corner  there  and 
hold  them."  The  drill  runners  crowded  round 
the  Slavs  growling  at  them  like  savage  dogs, 
and  Tarpy  ran  to  Ryan  who  was  bending  over 
Tom,  "Hell's  fire!"  he  said,  "it  is  that  big 
Mick." 

"The  man  is  shot,"  said  Ryan,  "in  the  front 
of  him."  He  pointed  to  a  round  hole  in  the 
breast  of  Tom's  heavy  coat.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  Tom  opened  his  eyes  and  struggled. 
"Aisy,"  panted  Ryan,  "aisy,  we'll  not  hurt 
ye."  Tom  stared  at  him  with  wide  eyes  and 
relaxed.  "I'm  alright,  Sor,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Rip  them  clothes  from  him,"  said  Ryan, 
"here  help  me."  The  two  of  them  tore  off  the 
heavy  coat,  then  a  cardigan  jacket  and  the 
woolen  shirt.  As  the  last  garment  came  over 
Tom's  head,  something  hit  the  floor,  dully. 
Ryan  bent  and  picked  up  a  flat  disk  of  lead. 
"The  bullet!"  he  cried,  and  looked  at  it  cu 
riously.  Tom  rose  to  his  feet  and  shook  him 
self.  On  the  white  expanse  of  his  chest  a  blue 
mart  showed,  tinged  with  red. 

"Lord!"  said  Tarpy, "what  are  ye  annyhow?" 

Two  or  three  drill  runners  crowding  close 


64  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

behind  him  muttered  oaths  of  wonder.  "Right 
again  the  breast  of  him/'  muttered  one,  "he's 
iron  chisted." 

"Iron  chisted  nawthin',"  growled  Ryan. 
"  'Tis  the  clothes  of  him  done  ut.  Wool  stops 
a  ball  better  than  steel  sometimes.  That  car 
digan  done  ut." 

"Good  Irish  wool!"  cried  another  and  there 
was  a  laugh. 

Ryan  whirled  on  them  blustering,  "Shut 
up,"  he  ordered.  "Get  out  of  here!"  Over 
in  the  corner  where  Jerry  and  The  Gunner  had 
superintended  the  gathering  of  the  battered 
Slavs  came  ugly  mutterings  now.  Ryan 
heard  them,  and  looked  around.  "Take  them 
over  to  T)'  quarters  to  yer  office,  Jack,"  said 
he,  "and  kape  them  there  till  I  come."  When 
the  crowd  had  moved  away  he  turned  again 
to  Tom.  "Now,  what  was  this?"  he  demanded. 

Tom  told  him  what  had  happened.  He  was 
dizzy  and  his  chest  was  sore,  but  otherwise  he 
was  unhurt;  and  his  head,  for  all  its  ringing, 
was  clear.  When  the  story  was  done  The 
Old  Man  called  for  the  Outside  Boss  and  The 
Cartender.  And  when  he  had  heard  them,  he 
cursed  the  former  fluently.  "Do  ye  think 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  65 

this  camp  is  a  Dutch  picnic,  that  ye  shtand 
by  and  watch  a  fight  brew?"  he  demanded. 
"Let  that  be  fer  town;  I'll  have  no  more  of 
ut  here."  He  glared  at  Tom.  "And  you," 
he  said.  "Who  are  you  to  be  bossin'  a  gang? 
Ye'll  be  wantin'  to  handle  my  job  next!"  He 
scowled  round  at  the  men  who  had  come  now 
from  all  parts  of  the  camp  and  even  from  the 
town,  drawn  by  the  swift  tidings.  He  swore 
at  them  and  stormed  out  of  the  room.  On 
the  steps  he  met  the  heading  foreman  and  gave 
him  a  dressing  down  for  allowing  trouble  to 
foment  in  his  bunk-house.  He  found  Tarpy 
in  "D"  quarters,  glowering  over  the  prisoners. 

"Get  them  scum  down  to  the  train,"  he 
ordered.  "Take  a  dozen  men  to  see  that  they 
get  there,  and  tell  them  never  to  set  fut  here 
again  or  I'll  have  them  hanged.  And  say, 
Jack,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone;  "that  lad 
licked  the  five  of  them  single-handed.  I'd 
give  me  mont's  wages  to  of  seen  ut." 

The  Walker  grinned.  "Did  ye  see  the  body 
of  him?"  he  asked. 

"He's  big  as  a  skinned  horse,"  said  Ryan; 
"and  he  has  the  nerve  behind  ut.  Ye  shud 
have  him  inside,  helpin'  on  a  machine;  he's 


66  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

too  good  to  waste  on  a  muck-pile."  He 
turned,  about  to  go,  then  stopped  and  laughed. 
"I  remember  him  now,"  he  said.  "He  is  the 
lad  wore  the  Tipperary  hat." 

When  The  Cartender  had  helped  Tom  wash 
and  dress  his  slight  wound  at  the  sink,  and 
they  had — with  the  help  of  voluble  explana 
tions  from  the  men  who  crowded  round — 
made  up  their  minds  how  the  cloth  had  checked 
the  small  caliber  bullet's  progress,  Tom  shook 
his  head  at  half  a  dozen  proffers  of  whiskey 
and  went  to  his  bunk.  He  sat  down  on  the 
edge;  The  Cartender  stood  beside  him. 

"Ye're  sick  a  bit?"  the  latter  asked. 

Tom  shook  his  head.  "I  think  I'll  lave," 
he  said. 

The  Cartender  stared  at  him.  "Did  ye 
hear  phwat  The  Ould  Man  said?"  demanded 
Tom.  The  Cartender  laughed.  "Oh,  Gun- 
nysack,"  said  he.  "That  is  his  way.  'Tis 
when  he  likes  ye  best  he  hands  ye  a  lick  wit 
the  rough  edge  of  his  tongue.  Don't  mind 
him." 

The  heading  boss  came  from  his  office  and 
wanted  to  hear  the  story.  The  crowd  who 
had  followed  the  Slavs  and  their  escort  to  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  67 

depot  began  to  filter  in  during  the  recital. 
They  jammed  round,  listening.  Jerry  Mor- 
ley  and  The  Gunner  were  there,  and  Kennedy, 
The  Dynamiter,  with  his  hard  face  seamed 
with  lines  of  violence. 

"Wan  man  against  the  five,"  said  the  lit 
tle  Gunner,  squinting  round  at  the  circle  which 
pressed  behind  him.  "That  was  fightin', 
Byes." 

They  growled  their  admiration  and  swore. 
Then  they  gathered  in  knots,  discussing  the 
shooting  and  the  Slavs.  Some  of  the  Coeur 
d'Aleners  began  to  advocate  driving  the  Polish 
element  out  of  camp,  lynching  one  or  two  for 
luck.  The  heading  boss  heard  the  talk.  He 
went  to  the  door  and  placed  his  back  against 
it. 

"Now,"  he  ordered,  "get  to  yer  bunks,  and 
them  that  does  not  belong  here  get  out. 
There'll  be  no  more  trouble  in  this  place." 
He  stopped  one  or  two  of  his  own  drill  run 
ners  trying  to  leave.  "No  downtown  goes  to 
night,"  said  he.  "If  ye  try  ut,  111  send  fer 
The  Old  Man."  They  grumbled  at  first,  and 
some  of  the  Coeur  d'Aleners  began  talking 
loudly  of  their  rights.  This  got  on  the  nerves 


68  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

of  Jerry  Morley  and  a  few  of  the  older  hard 
rock  men.  "Who  are  you?"  they  demanded; 
"to  be  tryin  to  run  this  camp?  Wait  till  ye're 
warm  in  yer  jobs  first." 

When  the  janitor  was  turning  out  the  lights, 
the  heading  boss  returned  to  Tom's  bunk. 
"Are  ye  goin'  to  work  in  the  marnin'?"  he 
asked.  Tom  nodded.  "I'm  alright,"  he  said. 
"Come  inside,"  said  the  heading  boss;  "I'll 
put  ye  to  helpin' ;  we're  short  av  men." 

Jerry  Morley  and  The  Gunner  heard  it,  as 
they  were  passing  by.  "Give  him  to  me," 
said  the  latter.  "My  helper's  drunk  and  I 
shud  be  able  to  larn  this  wan  somethin'." 

"Ye're  in  luck,"  said  The  Cartender,  when 
they  had  gone.  "The  Gunner  is  the  best  run 
ner  on  the  job." 

In  his  cottage  on  the  hill,  The  Old  Man  told 
the  story  to  his  wife.  They  were  in  the  lace- 
curtained  little  parlor,  a  room  resplendent  with 
a  brussels  carpet,  velvet-upholstered  furniture 
and  oleograph  pictures.  Mrs.  Ryan  listened 
to  it,  and  Nora,  hearkening  in  the  doorway, 
recognized  from  her  father's  description  the 
uncouth  Irishman  in  the  queer  high  hat,  whose 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  69 

angry  eyes  had  affronted  her  at  the  depot. 
In  Ryan's  tale  of  one  man  against  five — the 
one  in  peril  of  his  life — there  was  something 
that  made  her  catch  her  breath. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AT  a  quarter  before  eight  the  next  morn 
ing  the  shift  gathered  on  the  blacksmith  shop 
platform  by  the  tunnel  portal.  [The  heading 
boss  looked  them  over  thoughtfully  and  felt 
good-natured  as  he  realized  that  the  majority 
of  them  were  there.  They  crowded  the  plat 
form,  big-framed  men,  in  black  oilskins,  black 
squam  hats  and  rubber  boots.  Behind  them 
the  blacksmith  pulled  his  bellows,  and  the  red 
light  of  his  forge  flared  out  through  the  wide 
doors  on  their  rough  faces.  In  front  of  them, 
across  the  narrow-gauge  track,  the  power 
house  hummed  droningly  and  the  big  dynamos 
spat  blue  glare  through  the  many-paned  win 
dows.  It  spread  over  them  weirdly.  In  these 
flickering  lights  they  stood,  somber-garmented, 
gigantic.  Hard  by  the  tunnel's  black  mouth 
yawned. 

Most  of  them  were  muckers,  heavy-footed, 
heavy-faced.  Standing  apart  from  this  som 
ber  majority,  the  drill  runners  gathered  by 

70 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  71 

the  shop  door.  In  stature  they  were  the 
largest  of  the  crowd;  their  faces  were  alight 
with  recklessness.  As  they  talked,  some  of 
them  puffed  at  short-stemmed  briar  pipes; 
others  bit  deeply  into  plugs  of  black  tobacco 
and  spat  wantonly.  Their  laughter  boomed. 
At  intervals  one  raised  his  head  to  curse,  and 
the  oath  hurtled  from  his  lips  like  a  missile. 
They  talked  apart  from  the  crowd,  like  aris 
tocracy.  Only  their  helpers  mingled  with 
them.  They  jested  roughly. 

.The  muck  train  emerged  from  the  moun 
tain  and  stopped  for  the  unloading  of  dull 
steel.  A  nipper  boy  threw  the  muddy  drills 
to  the  platform.  The  short  lengths  clanged 
on  the  planks.  He  busied  himself  with  the 
longer  pieces  and  began  raising  a  fourteen- 
foot  drill  slowly  in  his  hands,  upending  it. 
The  uppermost  tip  touched  the  trolley  wire 
and  the  heavy  current  struck  him  like  a  giant's 
fist.  He  fell  back,  clear  of  the  car,  upon  the 
platform.  The  drill-runners  roared  laughter. 
They  slapped  their  heavy  thighs  and  clapped 
one  another's  backs  in  terrific  mirth.  The  boy 
picked  himself  up  slowly  and  rubbed  his  body 
thoughtfully  with  his  hands;  then  limped  back 


72  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

to  his  work,  cursing  them  over  his  shoulder. 

Four  of  the  Coeur  d'Aleners  were  in  the 
•group  of  drill  runners.  They  hung  together, 
their  mace-like  chuck  wrenches  in  their  hands, 
talking  loudly,  more  wantonly  than  any  of 
the  others.  The  Dynamiter  was  one  of  them. 
In  his  black  oilskins,  Kennedy  loomed  big; 
beneath  his  squam  hat,  his  seamed  face  showed, 
with  the  perpetual  frown  between  the  bleared, 
gray  eyes.  Jerry  Morley  and  The  Gunner 
stood  near  him.  At  The  Gunner's  heels 
walked  Tom,  bigger  than  any  of  those  about 
save  Kennedy.  He  was  listening  eagerly  to 
the  talk,  looking  at  the  faces.  And  with  the 
instinctive  reaching  out  for  first  impressions 
which  a  man  does  among  new  surroundings, 
he  noted  that  the  Coeur  d'Aleners  showed  sav 
age  among  these  reckless  men;  almost  sinister. 

The  Gunner  gave  him  a  long-handled 
monkey  wrench.  "Hang  onto  this,"  he  or 
dered,  "and  don't  let  anywan  get  ut  from  ye 
when  ye're  not  lookinV 

"Got  a  new  helper,  Gunner?"  It  was  Ken 
nedy.  Looking  into  the  bleared  eyes,  Tom 
saw  the  scowl  between  them  deepen  as  The 
Dynamiter  tried  to  smile.  "Were  ye  lookin' 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  73 

fer  the  greenest  ye  could  get?"  he  continued. 
The  Gunner  ignored  him.  Already  rivalry 
had  arisen  between  the  older  runners  of  Snow- 
slide,  the  men  of  the  public  works,  and  these 
new  comers  from  the  mines,  who  had  shown 
at  once  ability  to  handle  the  rock  and  prone- 
ness  toward  making  trouble.  He  turned  to 
Tom.  "Come  wit  me  to  the  machine  shop," 
he  said.  "I  want  to  show  ye  somethin'." 

In  the  machine  shop  the  little  man  took  a 
hurley  drill,  sent  out  for  repairs,  and  bent  over 
it.  "This,"  he  said,  "is  a  slugger;  what  we 
use  in  the  heading."  He  pointed  out  the  dif 
ferent  parts  and  named  them.  He  made  Tom 
repeat  every  name  after  him.  "Now,  mind," 
he  ordered,  "what  I've  showed  ye.  Some  day 
we'll  come  here  and  I'll  take  wan  to  pieces  and 
show  ye  the  innards  of  her." 

Outside,  the  shift  boss  was  ordering  them 
aboard  the  train.  "Ye're  green,  Lad,"  said 
The  Gunner,  squinting  upward  into  Tom's 
face,  as  they  went  to  join  the  others.  "But 
ye'll  larn.  Pay  no  heed  to  them  about  ye,  but 
listen  to  what  I  tell  ye." 

They  climbed  into  a  car,  and  as  the  train 
lurched  forward,  Big  Jerry  bent  toward  Tom, 


74  THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN 

His  voice  boomed  above  the  roaring  of  the 
wheels.  He  jerked  his  thumb  toward  The 
Gunner.  "Mind  what  that  little  divil  tells 
ye,"  he  cried.  "He's  the  best  runner  on  the 
work."  Abruptly,  so  that  it  obliterated  him 
in  the  midst  of  a  gesture,  the  tunnel's  black 
ness  closed  around  them. 

They  were  in  complete  'darkness,  roaring 
through  a  damp  cavern,  whose  walls  gave  back 
hollow  echoings;  whose  air  swept  by  them, 
touching  their  cheeks,  dank  like  the  air  of  a 
cellar.  Drops  from  the  roof  fell  upon  them. 
When  they  had  ridden  thus  for  a  few  moments, 
Tom  saw  points  of  light  ahead.  An  incan 
descent  glowed  from  the  roof;  then  others,  and 
he  watched  the  plumb-posts  on  the  side  of  the 
tunnel,  a  swift  procession  of  shadowed  col 
umns,  passing  endlessly  toward  the  portal. 
The  train  stopped  with  a  jerk  and  they  climbed 
out. 

They  were  in  'front  of  a  huge  framework 
of  heavy  timbers.  From  the  top  of  this,  and 
from  beneath  it,  a  crowd  of  men  came  toward 
them,  the  shift  whose  places  they  were  to  take. 
They  jostled  by;  their  faces  were  black  with 
oil  and  muck;  their  oilskins  gleamed  in  the 


THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN  75 

lamplight.  One  of  them  called  to  The  Gun 
ner;  and  while  the  two  stood  talking,  the  others 
went  on,  leaving  Tom  listening.  There  was 
an  interval  of  heavy  silence;  then  from  ahead 
came  a  series  of  thunderous  sounds,  which 
swelled  and  blended  in  a  reverberating  chorus. 
The  attack  on  the  mountain  had  been  resumed; 
the  drills  were  at  their  work. 

The  Gunner  finished  his  conference  with  the 
drill  runner  whose  machine  he  was  to  take, 
and  beckoned  Tom  to  follow  him.  They 
climbed  up  a  ladder  to  the  top  of  the  timbered 
platform.  It  was  half  way  between  the  floor 
and  the  roof  of  the  tunnel.  The  Gunner 
placed  his  mouth  near  Tom's  ear.  "This,"  he 
shouted,  and  the  words  came  faint,  diminished 
by  the  noises  about  them,  "is  the  jumbo." 

Tom  looked  around.  Ahead  of  them  a 
ledge  of  rock  rose  from  the  floor  of  the  tun 
nel  to  the  same  level  as  that  on  which  they 
stood.  From  the  jumbo  to  the  top  of  this 
ledge  stretched  a  heavy  gang  plank;  it  was 
now  crowded  with  a  line  of  men  wheeling 
muck  in  barrows.  As  these  men  gained  the 
jumbo,  they  dumped  the  rock  through  chutes 
into  cars  that  stood  beneath.  The  Gunner 


76  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

pointed  to  the  ledge.  At  its  foot  muckers 
toiled;  on  its  summit  six  tripod  drills,  swaying 
and  trembling  as  their  steel  beat  in  the  rock 
beneath  them,  united  their  iron  voices  in  ter 
rific  volley,  like  a  battery  of  rapid-fire  guns. 
On  each  tripod  stood  a  black-clad  runner,  his 
right  hand  on  the  crank,  his  left  hand  on  the 
valve  key.  Beneath,  among  the  tripods'  legs, 
the  helpers  bent  their  backs  in  toil.  The  Gun 
ner  turned  his  face  upward,  as  though  to  im 
part  a  secret.  "The  bench,"  he  shouted. 

Ahead  of  the  bench  the  place  stretched  fifty 
feet.  The  timbers  ceased  a  little  way  beyond 
the  jumbo  and  this  end  of  the  tunnel  was  a 
cavern,  rock-walled,  rock-roofed.  On  the 
roof,  hung  by  its  projections  and  by  wooden 
pegs,  a  string  of  incandescent  lamps  gave  yel 
low  light.  Beneath  them  now  the  line  of 
wheelbarrows  was  passing  toward  the  heading. 
They  stopped  at  a  heap  of  broken  rock  that 
rose  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ceiling  and  shut 
out  view  of  all  beyond.  From  behind  it  came 
a  mighty  roar,  deep,  pulsating.  It  rose  above 
the  noises  of  the  bench  machines  and  over 
whelmed  them.  It  made  the  air  shudder,  and 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  77 

the  very  rock  seemed  to  shake  before  it.  It  was 
the  beat  of  the  sluggers  upon  the  heading's 
breast.  To  this  place  The  Gunner  hastened, 
Tom  behind  him. 

Passing  between  the  drills  on  the  summit 
of  the  bench,  Tom  saw  the  nearest  runner  on 
his  rocking  tripod,  wreathed  with  mist  of  spent 
air  from  the  exhaust,  his  huge  body  shaking 
with  the  jarring  of  the  iron  beneath  him.  The 
machine  was  running  unevenly,  bucking  like  a 
fractious  horse.  The  man's  face  was  placid, 
absorbed,  as  though  he  were  listening  to  the 
noises. 

A  helper  hurried  by,  dragging  a  wire-bound 
air-hose.  The  coils  caught  on  a  rock;  the 
man's  mouth  opened  and  his  lips  writhed,  shap 
ing  curses ;  the  cords  of  his  neck  swelled  before 
the  vocal  effort;  the  oaths  died  soundless  as 
they  left  his  teeth. 

The  line  of  muckers  was  passing  down  the 
gangway  again,  with  their  laden  barrows. 
Always  the  crowd  of  laborers  was  sweating 
at  the  foot  of  the  bench,  shoveling  away  its 
broken  rock.  Everywhere  men  were  crowd 
ing  motion  into  small  space  and  steel  was 


!T8  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

smiting  stone.  Above  it  all  came  that  deep 
thunder  from  behind  the  rock  heap,  forty  feet 
away. 

They  reached  the  place.  At  the  base  of  the 
muck-heap  men  toiled  with  short-handled 
shovels;  over  its  summit  black  air-hose  wound 
like  snakes.  From  behind  it  came  the  slug 
gers'  pulsing  roar.  They^  clambered  to  the 
top. 

Ten  feet  ahead  of  them  the  tunnel  ended. 
The  interval  was  a  narrow  chamber,  rock- 
floored,  rock-roofed;  on  three  sides  walls  of 
rock,  on  the  fourth  the  muckheap.  In  this 
small  space  four  iron  columns  stood  side  by 
side;  on  each  column  were  two  great  air  drills. 
They  were  horizontal,  like  cannon,  eight  thun 
dering  engines  bombarding  the  heading's 
breast — the  sluggers. 

The  columns  were  four  feet  apart;  between 
the  upper  and  lower  machines  were  three-feet 
intervals.  They  jammed  the  narrow  space. 
In  short,  swift  strokes,  the  drills  plunged  for 
ward  and  receded  ceaselessly,  always  turning. 
The  air  valves  spat  cold,  gray  fog.  It  hung 
in  a  thick  cloud.  In  the  mist  Tom  saw  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  79 

helpers  bend  and  crouch  among  the  whirling 
chucks,  that  touched  their  fluttering  garments, 
while  the  muck  spouted  on  them  from  the 
driven  holes  and  the  valves  spat  black  oil  and 
ice  fragments  into  their  sweating  faces.  And 
he  saw  the  runners,  one  at  each  slugger's 
crank,  his  face  intent,  as  though  he  were  listen 
ing  to  catch  the  harmonies  of  the  titanic  iron 
chorus,  his  eyes  set  forward,  like  the  eyes  of  a 
gunner  directing  a  rapid-fire  cannon.  On  the 
low  roof,  among  the  column-tops,  a  cluster  of 
incandescent  lamps  glowed  through  the  fog, 
casting  shadows  and  high  lights  upon  the 
whole. 

Crouching  on  the  top  of  the  muck-pile,  Tom 
felt  the  touch  of  The  Gunner's  elbow  and  saw 
the  little  man  upraise  his  puckered  face.  He 
bent  his  head.  "Phwat  I  want  I  sign  fer  wit 
me  hands ;  watch  there,  now." 

Following  the  gesture,  Tom  saw  Big  Jerry 
at  the  crank  of  an  inside  machine,  move  his 
free  hand,  as  though  he  were  pulling  a  lever. 
Immediately,  the  helper  handed  him  a  chuck 
wrench.  Tom  nodded  comprehendingly.  The 
Gunner  brought  his  right  hand  before  Tom's 


80  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

face  and  twirled  his  fingers,  as  though  he  were 
turning  a  screw.  "Monkey  wrench,"  he 
screamed. 

They  descended  into  the  shuddering  cham 
ber.  The  Gunner  took  the  crank  of  the  ma 
chine  that  hung  beneath  Big  Jerry's.  On  the 
next  column  to  the  right,  Tom  saw  The  Dyna 
miter  frowning  ahead  into  the  reek  of  fog  and 
spatter  of  wet  muck,  his  reckless  face  stern, 
as  though  he  were  in  the  thick  of  a  battle. 
The  Gunner  whirled  his  crank  until  the  drill 
sank  to  the  bottom  of  the  hole,  whirled  it  back 
a  few  strokes,  and  twisted  the  valve  key.  The 
iron  engine  shook  and  the  piston  plunged 
slowly.  The  little  man  moved  the  valve  key 
again  and  the  piston  slid  more  swiftly.  He 
jerked  it  wide  open  and  his  slugger  joined  its 
thunder  with  the  salvos  of  the  others.  He 
crouched,  bent-backed,  his  legs  half  doubled — 
Three  feet  above  him,  Big  Jerry's  air  drill 
trembled  with  its  efforts.  Twisting  his  head, 
he  listened  to  the  medley  of  crashing  noises, 
picking  from  among  them  those  of  his  nra- 
chine,  segregating  these  to  see  that  each  rang 
true. 

Tom  knelt  at  The  Gunner's  back.    A  storm 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  81 

of  sound  waves  beat  upon  his  ears.  Men 
touched  him,  leaping  to  heavy  toil;  a  few  feet 
from  him  they  were  beating  steel  on  steel.  He 
was  in  the  center  of  a  tempest  of  strivings, 
in  the  vortex  of  a  maelstrom  of  tremendous 
effort.  He  half  shrank. 

Gradually  the  feeling  went  from  him.  The 
sounds  ceased  to  oppress.  He  began  to  dis 
tinguish  some  of  their  components,  and  to  see 
purpose  in  the  swift  movements  about  him. 
As  this  came,  he  began  to  desire  to  move  him 
self,  to  take  some  part  in  this  reckless  labor. 

The  Gunner  twitched  his  air  valve  shut  and 
crawled  in  beside  his  machine.  Tom  watched 
him  as  he  freed  the  run-out  steel  and  substi 
tuted  a  new  one;  then,  at  the  little  man's  sign, 
he  threw  the  old  drill  back  over  the  muck-heap. 
After  that  he  was  idle  again,  occasionally  do 
ing  some  slight  service ;  during  the  long  inter 
vals  watching  and  listening. 

When  they  were  on  the  ten-foot  steel,  The 
Gunner  bade  him  take  the  crank.  He  did  so, 
and  he  felt  all  the  forces  trembling  beneath  his 
hand;  he  twirled  it  forward  or  checked  its  ad 
vance  as  the  Gunner  told  him.  Before  he  had 
done  he  had  gotten  some  idea  of  the  feeling 


82  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

that  tells  how  fast  to  feed  the  drill.  Later  in 
the  day,  he  crawled  between  the  working  ma 
chines  and  extricated  steel.  He  was  fasci 
nated  now  by  the  heavy  excitements;  he  had 
forgotten  that  there  was  any  danger. 

In  the  afternoon  they  finished  the  round, 
and  he  helped  The  Gunner  tear  down  the  ma 
chine.  He  watched  the  other  runners  and 
their  helpers  loading  their  sluggers  into  wheel 
barrows,  or  bearing  them  laboriously  away, 
one  man  at  the  crank,  the  other  at  the  chuck. 
When  theirs  was  ready,  he  signed  The  Gun 
ner  to  stand  off,  and  he  took  the  mass  of  iron 
on  his  shoulder.  He  strode  down  the  narrow 
gangway  to  the  jumbo,  erect,  moving  easily. 
Men  stared  at  him  as  he  passed.  "  Strong  as 
a  mule,"  Big  Jerry  shouted,  when  he  returned 
to  the  heading.  The  others  laughed,  save 
Kennedy,  whose  lip  ends  drooped  downward 
in  something  like  a  sneer. 

"What's  wrong  wit  him?"  Tom  asked  The 
Cartender  that  night. 

"He  knows  The  Gunner  an'  Big  Jerry  has 
no  time  fer  him  an'  his  gang,"  said  The  Car- 
tender.  "Like  as  not  ut's  made  him  sore  at 

ye." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"YE'RE  gettin'  tough,"  The  Cartender  said 
one  evening,  a  few  weeks  later. 

Tom  grinned;  he  rather  liked  the  accusa 
tion.  He  was  working  on  "graveyard"  now, 
the  shift  that  goes  on  at  midnight  and  does 
not  come  out  until  morning,  and  Tom  had 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  loafing  for  an  hour  or 
two  in  the  white  sunlight  before  he  went  to 
sleep,  often  walking  down  on  the  dump  to  talk 
with  his  broad-faced  friend.  He  had  done  so 
this  morning,  and  while  they  talked  he  had 
bitten  into  a  plug  of  black  tobacco,  provoking 
the  remark. 

He  had  learned  the  habit  from  the  men 
about  him — eagerly  as  he  had  learned  many 
other  things.  For  they  were  to  him  ideals — 
these  hard-faced  men,  who  toiled  recklessly; 
where  the  sluggers  thundered  in  the  forefront 
of  the  advance  against  the  mountain.  Every 
day,  as  they  went  to  work,  he  stood  near  their 
little  circle  on  the  blacksmith  shop  platform 

83 


84  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

and  listened  to  their  talk.  And  in  the  hours 
of  leisure  he  often  hung  around  the  bunk- 
house  stove,  hearkening  to  them  while  they 
"drove  tunnel,"  absorbing  their  stories  of  toil 
and  death  and  wild  debauch.  The  desire  to 
learn,  instinctive  within  him,  born  of  the 
larger  instincts  that  made  him  hungry  to  be 
of  the  men  and  of  the  place,  reached  out  these 
days  to  seize  new  things.  He  metamorphosed 
rapidly. 

The  manner  of  his  speaking  was  first  to 
change.  The  tongue  of  the  men  of  Snowslide 
was  of  mongrel  origin,  for  the  most  part  Irish- 
American.  It  was  rich  in  oaths ;  slang  born  of 
the  work  lent  it  vigor.  Fundamentally,  it  was 
a  language  of  terse  expression.  Tom  acquired 
it  quickly;  he  picked  up  its  idioms,  its  oaths. 
He  learned  to  swear  and  his  voice  took  on 
depth. 

Gradually,  his  bearing  was  changing  with 
his  speech.  The  eagerness  born  of  newness 
was  leaving  him,  to  be  replaced  by  recklessness. 
The  work  was  the  biggest  factor  in  this 
change.  The  tunnel  was  a  place  of  huge, 
rapid  action.  They  drove  the  hole  into  the 
mountain  with  utter  lack  of  deliberation,  work- 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  85 

ing  swiftly  for  progress.  When  the  most 
eager  miners  would  have  stopped  to  wait  for 
timbers,  they  went  on  ahead  and  dared  the 
shaking  roof  to  crash  down  upon  them.  The 
drill  runners  drove  their  machines  to  finish 
each  round  of  holes  as  soon  as  possible,  racing 
to  see  who  should  get  done  first.  The  nar 
row  space  between  the  muck-pile  and  the  head 
ing's  breast  teemed  with  multiplied  and  heavy 
excitements;  in  it  the  simplest  task  was  preg 
nant  with  possibilities  of  danger ;  performance 
of  ordinary  duties  demanded  absence  of  all 
reflection. 

In  this  place  Tom  learned  to  worm  his  way 
between  the  plunging  chucks,  with  the  frozen 
breath  of  the  exhausts  coughing  against  his 
cheeks,  and  he  liked  it.  He  liked  the  chaos 
of  sound  that  shook  the  rock  about  him.  He 
handled  steel  and  saw  it  crush  the  granite,  and 
when  they  shot  he  carried  giant  powder  to 
Big  Jerry  and  The  Gunner  and  helped  them 
whittle  it  for  the  insertion  of  exploders. 
After  the  shot  had  pulled  he  was  always  at 
The  Gunner's  heels,  among  the  first  to  enter 
the  heading,  reeking  now  with  nitro  gases  that 
made  the  blood  pound  madly  through  his  veins. 


86  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Gradually  he  was  acquiring  knowledge. 
Watching  the  men  about  him  and  listening  to 
The  Gunner's  counselings,  he  came  to  know 
the  sounds  that  rang  true  and  the  sounds  that 
spelled  trouble;  to  know  by  the  crank's  feeling 
what  was  going  on  in  the  hidden  depths  of  the 
granite,  where  his  plunging  steel  was  biting 
its  way. 

With  the  knowledge  was  coming  greater 
daring.  The  race  on  his  shift  was  a  grim  one. 
The  Coeur  d'Aleners  and  the  hard  rock  men 
made  up  equal  proportions  of  the  men  in  the 
heading;  each  element  had  one  side  of  the 
chamber.  Every  day  they  toiled  desperately 
to  see  which  side  should  finish  first.  Big 
Jerry  and  The  Gunner  were  by  far  the  ablest 
runners  on  their  side.  Kennedy  was  most 
skilful  of  his  men.  Thus  thrown  into  the 
thick  of  the  striving  for  prestige,  Tom  became 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  place,  a  spirit 
which  demands  lack  of  any  recking. 

And  so  he  grew  to  rather  seeking  than 
avoiding  danger.  His  mind  was  always  on 
the  tunnel,  on  rock  and  steel  and  rending  dyna 
mite,  until  learning  them  better,  it  had  gotten 
something  of  their  hardness  and  violence.  He 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  87 

swaggered  slowly  as  he  walked;  he  looked  men 
boldly  in  the  eyes. 

Another  month  passed  and  they  went  on 
afternoon  shift.  He  had  his  mornings  to  him 
self.  But  he  did  not  spend  so  much  time  as 
he  had  planned  with  The  Cartender.  He  had 
found  new  friends.  Big  Jerry  and  The  Gun 
ner  were  closest  of  these.  With  these  two,  he 
sometimes  visited  the  town,  the  row  of  flimsy 
board  buildings,  whose  flamboyant  signs  were 
always  fluttering  in  the  wind.  He  drank 
across  the  unpainted  bars  and  watched  the 
others  drinking,  no  longer  wondering  at  what 
he  saw,  looking  at  it  with  steady  eyes. 

Pay  day  night  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
dance  halls,  when  he  met  The  Cartender,  who 
looked  at  him  curiously  and  repeated  his  com 
ment  of  a  few  weeks  before.  "Ye're  gettin' 
tough,"  The  Cartender  said  dispassionately. 

"The  hell  I  am,"  said  Tom. 

"They  tell  me,"  said  The  Cartender,  "Ye 
rowed  wit  Big  Kennedy  in  the  headin'  to-day 
an'  told  the  boss  to  go  to  hell  when  he  stopped 

ye." 

:  'Twas  Kennedy  told  him  that,"  said  Tom; 
"not  me.    And  'twas  no  row.    He'd  tuk  me 


88  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

chuck  wrench  and  whin  I  got  lit  back  he 
wanted  throuble." 

"Your  chuck  wrench,"  said  The  Cartender. 
"Humph!  Annywan  wud  think  ye  had  a  ma 
chine  av  yer  own." 

"So  I  have,"  said  Tom.  "The  boss  give  me 
wan  to-day.  Come  on;  we'll  have  a  drink  on 
the  strenth  av  ut." 

The  Cartender  grinned.  "I  said  ye  was 
gettin'  tough,"  he  reiterated.  Tom  swag 
gered  slowly  beside  him  down  the  dump. 
When  they  reached  the  first  saloon  he  slapped 
his  money  on  the  bar  top  and  called  Big  Jerry 
and  The  Gunner  to  join  him.  They  clapped 
him  on  the  back  and  swore  at  his  good  luck. 
They  told  him  he  could  run  a  machine  with 
any  of  them.  They  bade  him  drink  with  them. 
It  was  an  hour  later  when  The  Cartender  got 
him  to  leave. 

"  'Tis  not  the  dhrink,"  Tom  remonstrated. 
"I  want  to  see  thot  Dynamiter,  Kinnedy, 
He's  been  sayin'  he  is  the  betther  man  av  us." 

"Never  mind  Kennedy,"  said  The  Car- 
tender.  "Leave  that  be  fer  the  headin'.  He 
may  show  ye  things  there  yet.  Come  wit  me 
now;  I  want  to  go  to  the  post-office." 


CHAPTER  X 

DOCTOR"'  was  a  tall  man,  dark-eyed, 
with  a  good  figure  and  rather  handsome  face. 
The  face  was  marked  by  a  bottle-nose.  This 
distinguishing  feature  had  been  slowly  and 
carefully  developed  by  its  owner,  who  was 
rather  proud  of  it  than  otherwise.  To  him  it 
suggested  associations  like  an  honorable  scar. 
It  was  a  perpetual  reminder  of  past  victories. 
For  The  Doctor  cherished  the  tradition  that  a 
gentleman  must  be  a  man  of  hard  head — "A 
good  drinking  man,"  was  the  way  he  put  it. 
During  the  years  he  had  spent  in  following  the 
railroad's  progress  this  idea  had  strengthened, 
until  he  had  come  to  a  point  where  he  used  an 
alcoholic  test  on  his  acquaintances  and  abided 
by  its  result  in  determining  their  proper  posi 
tion  in  life.  He  carefully  scanned  every  man 
who  roused  his  interest;  then  tried  him  out  with 
Scotch  whiskey  of  a  special  brand,  which  he 
imported  by;  the  case.  After  the  candidate 

89 


90  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

for  friendship  had  undergone  this  process  he 
was  always  spoken  of  by  The  Doctor  with  a 
varying  degree  of  warmth  as:  merely,  "A 
drinking  man,"  "A  good  drinking  man,"  or — 
this  last  in  rare  instances,  and  always  pro 
nounced  admiringly — "An  excellent  drinking 
man."  A  very  few,  whose  talents  or  accom 
plishments  in  other  lines  of  life  made  up  for 
their  shortcomings  over  the  bottle,  he  retained, 
but  always  shook  his  head  a  little  sadly  when  he 
mentioned  their  names. 

The  tests  were  always  conducted  in  The 
Doctor's  little  parlor,  back  of  the  store.  Like 
initiations  to  certain  secret  fraternities,  they 
were  always  carried  out  as  the  result  of  invita 
tions  from  the  initiator.  The  novice  was  never 
apprised  of  the  ordeal's  approach.  He  found 
himself  some  day  asked  to  sit  down  and  have  a 
chat;  and  then  he  saw  the  bottle  and  the  glasses 
placed  before  him.  After  that  it  was  a  case 
of  temperament  and  physical  endurance.  As 
soon  as  he  showed  the  first  symptoms  of  suc 
cumbing  he  found  himself  dismissed  most 
courteously;  the  test  had  been  completed;  he 
was  listed  in  his  category.  He  departed,  The 
Doctor  bidding  him  hospitable  farewell  and  at 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  91 

the  same  time  making  the  new  mental  entry  in 
his  classified  blue  book. 

In  this  manner  many  men  had  drunk  be 
neath  The  Doctor's  watchful  eye,  he  keeping 
pace  religiously  beside  them,  glass  for  glass, 
He  was  almost  as  democratic  as  the  bestow- 
ers  of  the  Victoria  Cross.  One  or  two  bench 
and  heading  bosses  had  high  places  on  his  roll. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  resident  engineer, 
who  had  left  the  drug  store  a  little  uncertainly 
one  evening,  remained  thenceforth  among 
those  who  were  never  again  invited  into  the 
sanctum;  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  one  man  on  the  work  to  whose  word  the 
superintendent  had  to  give  heed.  It  was  whis 
pered  that  there  were  men  now  high  in  the  gen 
eral  offices  in  St.  Paul  who  still  boasted  of  the 
manner  in  which,  during  days  of  the  road's 
construction,  they  had  emerged  from  The 
Doctor's  sitting  room. 

The  payday  on  which  Tom  got  his  first 
machine  remained  memorable  with  several 
people.  On  that  day  The  Old  Man  under 
went  initiation.  Ryan  had  been  in  Snowslide 
more  than  a  year  and  he  had  never  been  in 
vited  to  the  test  before.  The  importance  of 


92  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

his  position  and  the  aggressiveness  of  his  per 
sonality  had  made  The  Doctor  slow  to  act. 
This  thing  was  too  grave  to  undertake  in  any 
hasty  spirit.  He  had  waited,  and  waiting  he 
had  come  to  close  acquaintance  with  The  Old 
Man,  who  had  visited  the  post  office  nearly 
every  day  of  his  life.  With  anyone  else  this 
acquaintance  would  have  long  since  become 
friendship,  but  The  Doctor  had  reserve.  He 
studied  Ryan,  almost  gloating  in  the  anticipa 
tion  of  what  was  to  come.  This  afternoon  he 
decided  that  the  time  was  auspicious. 

It  was  raining,  outside,  a  mountain  rain,  fit 
ful  wet  gusts  with  intervals  of  quiet  clearness. 
The  Old  Man  carried  his  umbrella;  it  was  a 
silk  umbrella  with  an  ornate  gold  handle  whose 
heavy  knob  was  known  by  almost  everyone  in 
camp.  Ryan  stood  it  in  a  corner  when  The 
Doctor  conducted  him  into  the  little  parlor. 
He  sat  down  and  watched  the  bringing  forth 
of  the  bottle  and  the  glasses.  "Hell,"  he  said 
in  a  dismayed  tone,  "my  wife's  lukkin'  fer  me 
back  in  the  half  hour." 

The  Doctor  smiled — there  was  something 
inexorable  in  the  smile — he  had  heard  similar 
protests  before.  The  Old  Man  read  the  look 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  93 

and  knew  what  lay  ahead  of  him.  He  rose 
and  removed  his  overcoat;  he  laid  it  carefully 
over  the  back  of  a  chair ;  sat  down  and  sighed 
heavily.  The  Doctor  raised  his  eyes. 

"There's  some  things,"  explained  The  Old 
Man,  "ye  don't  want  to  take  wit  a  run  and  a 
jump.  Best  go  to  this  serious,  like  a  man  does 
a  day's  work  takin'  his  dinner  bucket  along." 

The  Doctor  smiled  at  the  tribute  and  filled 
the  glasses. 

"I  just  come  from  The  Headmaster's  pri 
vate  car,"  said  Ryan  tentatively.  "He  was 
up  on  the  sidin'.  We  had  a  few  bottles  av  beer 
together.  I  misdoubt  but — " 

"A  good  drinkin'  man,"  said  The  Doctor 
impressively,  "never  lets  a  little  thing  like  beer 
disturb  his  mind."  He  raised  his  glass. 

There  was  a  glint  of  fire  in  The  Old  Man's 
eye  as  he  raised  his  own.  "Here's  how!"  he 
said. 

It  was  more  than  two  hours  later  when  Ryan 
and  The  Doctor  rose  from  their  chairs.  "Me 
elbow,"  said  the  former,  "is  lame  wit  crookin' 
ut."  The  Doctor  gazed  at  him  admiringly 
and  shook  his  head.  "You  are  a  wonder,  Mr. 
Ryan,"  he  said  slowly. 


94  THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

iThe  Old  Man  struggled  into  his  overcoat 
and  picked  up  his  hat.  Of  a  sudden  he 
changed  color.  "My  wife,"  he  said,  "I'd  clean 
f ergot;  I  must  be  goin'." 

Half  way  up  the  dump  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  had  forgotten  his  umbrella.  He  halted 
to  retrace  his  steps;  then  changed  his  mind. 
"I'd  best  be  gettin'  home  now,"  he  muttered, 
"and  have  a  bite  av  supper."  He  hurried  to 
the  house  and  found  it  empty. 

In  the  little  parlor  The  Doctor  rubbed  his 
hands  and  thought  of  Ryan.  "My  word,"  he 
said,  "what  a  head!"  His  own  head  rang  a 
little ;  it  was  the  first  time  in  many  years.  The 
more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  his  admiration 
grew.  His  eye  lit  on  the  umbrella  by  the  door. 
He  chuckled;  that  was  the  only  sign  of  weak 
ness  he  had  discovered.  He  took  the  umbrella 
and  placed  it  on  the  counter  determining  to 
send  it  to  The  Old  Man  by  the  first  drill  runner 
who  might  come  in.  Then  he  busied  himself 
sorting  the  mail  for  the  eastbound  train.  As 
he  worked  he  hummed  a  song  that  he  had 
heard  in  a  music  hall  twenty  years  before.  It 
was  a  catchy  song — not  too  polite. 

He  smiled  frequently  to  himself — never  had 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN  95 

tHere  been  a  test  like  this.  He  grew  enthu 
siastic  thinking  of  it.  He  was  in  a  mellow 
mood ;  a  wave  of  good  feeling  toward  mankind 
in  general,  had  come  over  him;  and  details  were 
of  small  importance.  Outside  the  rain  came 
on  again.  It  whipped  the  windows  angrily. 
The  door  opened  and  Snowslide  Ann  came  in. 

Like  The  Doctor,  Snowslide  Ann  had  fol 
lowed  the  railroad  many  years.  She  had 
worked  in  every  dance  hall  from  the  days  of 
McCarthyville,  when  they  were  driving  the 
tunnel  through  the  summit  of  the  Rockies. 
She  had  always  been  a  good  customer  and  the 
tradesman  part  of  The  Doctor  liked  her.  The 
two  had  an  impersonal  acquaintance  that  had 
grown  close  with  time.  He  looked  around  the 
little  barrier  of  lock-boxes  and  saw  her. 

"Helloa  Ann,"  he  said.  "My  word,  you're 
wet!" 

She  shook  the  rain  from  her  flimsy  gown. 
"Lend  me  this  umbrella,  Doc?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly,"  he  said  and  waved  his  hand, 
"with  pleasure."  Gesture  and  words  were  at 
once  courtly  and  savoring  of  comradeship. 
She  giggled. 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  she. 


96  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

"Don't  mention  it,  Ann,"  replied  the  Doc 
tor,  "and,  I  say,  see  that  I  get  it  back  as  soon 
as  possible,  will  you,  please?"  He  went  on 
sorting  the  mail,  humming  the  impolite  song 
as  she  departed. 

Outside  the  door  Snowslide  Ann  raised  the 
umbrella.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  ornate  handle. 
"Gee!"  she  said,  "that's  swell."  Carefully 
she  grasped  the  handle  well  up  so  that  the  gold 
knob  would  be  sure  to  show  in  all  its  splendor. 
She  held  it  against  the  red  gown  and  her  eyes 
dwelt  upon  the  combination  of  the  two  colors 
as  she  walked  proudly  past  the  restaurant  and 
the  grocery  store.  Looking  thus  with  ad 
miration  fixed  and  pride  swelling  within  her, 
she  did  not  see  the  red-faced,  broad-shouldered 
woman  whose  gaze  was  hardening  on  the  big 
knob.  The  two  of  them  would  have  collided 
had  not  Mrs.  Ryan  somewhat  elaborately 
drawn  aside,  holding  her  skirts  close  to  her. 

When  she  had  passed  Snowslide  Ann,  Mrs. 
Ryan  turned  and  stared  at  woman  and  um 
brella.  Then  she  spoke  to  the  girl  beside  her. 
"Come  Nora,"  she  said  through  tightened  lips, 
"we'll  be  going  home.  If  your  father's  not 
there  now,  we'll  wait  for  him." 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  97 

An  hour  later  when  Snowslide  Ann  sent 
the  umbrella  back  to  the  postoffice,  The  Doc 
tor  was  talking  to  Tom  and  The  Cartender, 
who  had  just  come  in.  He  looked  up  a  trifle 
disturbed,  as  he  took  it  and  turned  to  Tom, 
"Mr.  Morton,"  he  said,  "would  you  mind  do 
ing  me  a  favor?" 

"I  will  that,"  said  Tom.  The  Doctor 
handed  him  the  umbrella.  "Just  take  this  to 
Ryan's  house,"  said  he,  "and  give  it  to  him 
with  my  compliments."  When  Tom  had  gone 
he  sighed  relief.  "I'm  glad  he  didn't  come 
back  after  it  while  she  was  gone  with  it,"  he 
reflected. 

On  the  front  porch  of  Ryan's  cottage  Tom 
stood  for  a  brief  moment,  waiting  for  the  an 
swer  to  his  knock,  The  Cartender  beside  him. 
Nora  opened  the  door  and  her  eyes  lit  upon 
the  umbrella  handle  in  Tom's  grasp.  They 
went  to  Tom  and  her  face  grew  very  cold. 
Tom  caught  the  look.  His  hand  had  gone  to 
his  squam  hat;  it  lingered  there  awkwardly 
while  he  began  to  deliver  the  message.  "I 
brought  ut,"  he  was  saying,  "fer — ."  A 
heavier  foot  than  Nora's  sounded  in  the  door 
way  and  Mrs.  Ryan  pushed  her  daughter 


98  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

aside.  She  said  nothing;  her  face  was  very 
red.  She  reached  out  and  snatched  the  um 
brella  from  Tom's  hand.  iThen  she  slammed 
the  door. 

For  a  moment  Tom  stood  staring  at  the 
closed  door.  He  turned  to  The  Cartender 
and  saw  him  staring  too,  open  mouthed.  He 
wheeled  and  walked  away,  The  Cartender  at 
his  heels.  The  latter  was  first  to  speak. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  slowly,  "what  was 
wrong?" 

"Wrong,"  growled  Tom,  "there's  nawthin' 
wrong.  They  think  they're  too  good  fer  the 
loikes  av  us;  that's  all." 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  the  murky  heading  the  runners  cranked 
the  roaring  sluggers,  elbow  to  elbow,  knee  to 
knee,  as  jockeys  ride  the  last  stretch  of  a  close- 
run  race.  As  jockeys  urge  their  horses  to  a 
final  bursting  effort,  they  crowded  the  steel 
to  its  uttermost  into  the  ringing  granite.  For 
the  first  man  down  was  the  best. 

Always  there  was  this  rivalry,  with  prestige 
for  the  swift,  and  for  him  who  fell  behind 
too  often,  relegation  to  the  tripods  of  the 
bench.  And  prestige  spelt  mastery  as  plainly 
in  Snowslide  as  in  other  places.  Until  the 
advent  of  the  Coeur  d'Aleners,  Big  Jerry  and 
The  Gunner  had  always  held  the  lead  and  the 
others  had  always  looked  up  to  them.  Now 
that  there  were  the  two  factions,  the  hard 
rock  men  and  these  exiled  miners  led  by  Ken 
nedy,  the  race  had  come  to  be  between  The 
Dynamiter's  machine  and  The  Gunner's. 

Tom  had  keenly  felt  the  spirit  of  this  race. 
99 


100  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

He  had  bent  his  back  eight  hours  a  day  doing 
his  part  to  help  win  it.  And  watching  it  he 
had  studied  each  man's  method.  Toiling  at 
The  Gunner's  beck,  hearkening  to  his  instruc 
tions,  Tom  had  learned  many  things  from  the 
little  one-eyed  man.  With  his  eyes  on  Ken 
nedy  he  had  seen  also  the  deliberation  of 
method,  the  absolute  certainty  before  going 
ahead  that  characterizes  the  men  of  the  mines. 
Like  The  Gunner,  The  Dynamiter  had  a 
knowledge  of  the  rock  that  was  almost  un 
canny,  that  made  his  fingers,  as  they  touched 
the  jarring  crank,  see  for  him  into  the  granite 
where  the  hidden  steel  was  plunging.  Some 
of  these  methods  of  judgment  Tom  had  got 
ten  from  him.  It  was  only  from  the  sides 
of  his  eyes  that  he  had  gotten  them.  For  the 
rivalry  between  the  factions  was  stern  and 
often  when  Kennedy  withdrew  his  steel  from 
a  clean  hole,  Tom  saw  his  fierce  eyes  alight 
with  quiet  triumph  glancing  at  The  Gunner 
still  busy  on  a  twelve-foot  length.  They  had 
no  speech  together,  only  these  sidelong  looks 
of  triumph  or  contempt. 

The  morning  after  payday  Tom  entered 
the  heading  to  find  a  change.     The  Gunner 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  101 

and  Jerry  were  not  there.  Tarrying  down 
town  with  them  in  the  dance  halls  were  the 
two  other  runners  on  their  side.  Taking  the 
place  of  these,  Tom  saw  men  from  the  bench, 
unaccustomed  to  the  sterner  conditions  of  the 
heading  and  its  heavier  machines.  The  shift 
was  finishing  the  setting  up,  and  there  was 
no  tumult  of  sound  to  drown  their  words. 
Kennedy  in  the  midst  of  his  Coeur  d'Aleners 
was  able  to  make  himself  heard  plainly  as  he 
growled,  "It's  up  to  us  to  do  what  runnin's 
done,  byes."  He  looked  at  Tom  as  he  said  it 
and  smiled  unpleasantly. 

For  all  the  anger  that  flared  within  him, 
Tom  felt  as  a  boy  feels,  learning  to  swim, 
when  the  hand  beneath  his  body  has  been  sud 
denly  withdrawn,  and  he  finds  himself  floun 
dering  alone.  As  he  busied  himself  bolting 
up  his  machine,  then  pointing  it,  he  realized 
how  easy  working  at  another's  command  had 
been;  how  heavy  was  decision.  He  realized 
it  many  times  that  day  with  a  raw  helper  al 
ways  looking  to  him  for  orders,  often  failing 
to  comprehend  them.  And  he  had  a  hopeless 
feeling  long  before  Kennedy  ran  down  his 
last  steel  grinning  at  him  in  open  derision. 


102  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

It  was  a  full  half  hour  later  when  he  finished 
his. 

The  Coeur  d'Aleners  loaded  the  round  when 
ever  that  duty  fell  to  the  day  shift  now.  Usu 
ally  they  began  it  while  one  or  two  of  the  hard 
rock  contingent  were  still  sweating  to  tear 
down  their  machines.  There  was  no  racing 
now.  The  month  went  on;  Big  Jerry  and 
The  Gunner  did  not  come  back.  The  former 
drifted  to  another  shift,  the  latter  took  the 
place  of  the  bench  boss  who  had  been  injured 
by  a  falling  rock,  and  Tom  saw  him  only  go 
ing  out  or  coming  in  to  work.  The  heading 
limped  along  unevenly.  The  Walker  fell  to 
coming  in  to  hasten  matters;  he  would  stand 
behind  the  slower  runners  frowning  at  them 
between  heavy  brows,  occasionally  roaring 
curses  that  carried  through  the  thunder  of  the 
sluggers.  The  thing  became  known  through 
the  camp;  off  the  work  men  from  other  gangs 
gibed  Tom  and  his  companions.  Tom  said 
nothing  to  them,  though  the  discrepancy  be 
tween  his  machine  and  Kennedy's  was  greater 
than  that  between  any  other  two.  But  he 
talked  to  The  Gunner  about  it  almost  every 
evening,  listening  carefully  to  what  the  little 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  103 

man  told  him.  And  he  talked  to  his  helper. 
Sometimes  he  stopped  his  drill  to  do  it  in  the 
midst  of  the  work. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  month  a  change  be 
gan  to  come.  The  bench  men  had  learned 
their  business  now  and  were  crowding  their 
steel  along  until  they  ran  a  close  race  with 
the  Coeur  d'Aleners.  But  Tom  still  lagged 
behind  The  Dynamiter  and  seemed  content  to 
let  Kennedy  win  easily.  The  heading  boss 
came  to  scowling  as  he  looked  at  them.  Then 
the  month  ended  and  they  went  on  "grave 
yard." 

The  first  night  as  they  gathered  in  the  shad 
ows  on  the  blacksmith  shop  platform,  black- 
clad  giants  in  the  sombre  place,  Tom  drew 
his  helper  aside,  and  whispered  at  length  into 
his  ear.  The  helper  listened  and  at  intervals 
he  nodded  earnestly.  He  had  learned  his  bus 
iness  now.  Kennedy  saw  it  and  laughed  a 
sneering  laugh.  But  when  he  reached  the 
heading  he  lost  no  time  in  hurrying  to  the 
machine.  And  the  others  seemed  to  feel  it 
for  they  watched  the  two  men  as  they  pre 
pared  to  start. 

It  was  shaky  rock,  full  of  slips  and  faults, 


104  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

seams  where  the  granite  had  rotted,  streaming 
water.  This  is  the  hardest  of  running;  it  re 
quires  most  careful  judgment.  Overhead  the 
roof  hung  precariously.  For  two  days  huge 
masses  had  been  peeling  away,  crashing  down 
in  spite  of  blocking.  A  half  a  dozen  men 
had  suffered  injuries  and  several  had  leaped 
aside  from  the  path  of  annihilation.  In  spite 
of  the  hour  The  Old  Man  was  inside  with  The 
Walker  looking  at  the  timbering  above  the 
bench.  The  two  of  them  stayed  while  the 
heading  machines  were  starting.  They  came 
to  the  muckpile  and  sat  upon  its  summit  watch 
ing  them. 

There  were  only  four  machines  running  in 
the  heading  this  night.  Tom  and  The  Dyna 
miter  stood  at  the  two  inside  ones,  four  feet 
apart.  Each  of  them  was  at  his  hole's  be 
ginning.  They  stood,  two  broad-backed  gi 
ants,  the  big  shoulders  of  each  bent  slightly 
forward  as  he  watched  his  helper,  while  the 
two  helpers  sprang  upon  the  chucknuts  and 
grunted,  bending  their  bodies  to  the  long- 
handled  wrenches.  Standing  thus,  one  big 
hand  on  the  idle  crank,  one  on  the  valve  key, 
the  face  of  each  was  motionless,  intent  upon 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  105 

the  helper.  Each  held  his  lips  tight  shut,  his 
head  thrust  slightly  forward  upon  the  corded 
neck.  About  them  the  other  sluggers  beat 
huge  diapasons.  Thick  drops  fell  on  them 
from  the  sweating  roof.  The  fog  of  the  spent 
air  mantled  their  black-clad  bodies.  Oil  black 
ened  their  faces;  it  gleamed  beneath  the  in- 
candescents  upon  their  cheeks. 

The  two  helpers  sprang  back.  The  two 
arms  whirled  the  easing  cranks.  The  hands 
twitched  at  the  valve  keys.  The  sluggers 
muttered  sullenly  like  ugly  animals  of  iron 
and  beat  the  granite  in  slow  strokes.  The 
hands  upon  the  valve  keys  twitched  again. 
The  mutter  loudened  and  the  blows  increased. 
Again  the  twitching  of  the  big  hands  and  the 
drills  roared,  tearing  their  way  into  the  head 
ing's  breast. 

"It  seems  to  me  I  know  the  face  of  him," 
The  Old  Man  cried  into  Tarpy's  ear.  "Who 
is  that  Mick,  Jack?" 

"Gunner  Flynn's  old  helper,"  shouted  The 
Walker.  "The  wan  that  licked  them  Polacks." 

The  Old  Man  nodded  and  shifted  his  eyes 
to  the  roof.  At  once  he  nudged  The  Walker 
with  his  elbow  and  pointed  upward.  A  mass 


106  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

of  rock  had  loosened;  the  seam  showed  where 
it  hung,  a  suspended  menace.  It  might  fall 
the  next  minute;  it  might  endure  for  hours. 
Tarpy  saw  and  called  the  heading  boss. 

Tom  and  Kennedy  were  on  their  four-foot 
steel  when  the  heading  boss  stepped  between 
them  and  touched  each  of  them  on  the  shoulder. 
With  him  were  two  laborers  who  bore  a  huge, 
thick  post.  Both  runners  followed  the  fore 
man's  gesture  and  glanced  at  the  roof.  The 
suspended  rock  was  fair  above  them.  Whether 
it  would  fall — if  it  fell — between  them  or  upon 
them  both,  was  an  open  question.  Their  eyes 
lingered  briefly  upon  it  and  grew  scornful. 
They  turned  to  the  heading  boss  and  The  Old 
Man  saw  them  arguing;  The  Dynamiter 
clenched  his  fist  and  shook  it  in  the  foreman's 
face. 

"What's  this?"  Ryan  shouted. 

The  heading  boss  came  over  to  The  Walker. 
"They  will  not  stop,"  he  cried,  and  the  thunder 
of  the  two  machines,  starting  in  unison, 
drowned  the  rest  of  his  sentence.  He  raised 
his  voice:  "They're  afther  seein'  who  is  best 
man,"  he  shouted. 

"Oho,"  cried  Ryan.     "Go  to  it  then,  ye  div- 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  107 

ils!"  he  yelled  at  the  two  broad  backs.  "Let's 
stay  and  watch  ut,"  he  called  in  Tarpy's  ear. 

The  Walker  laughed.  "A  merry  race,"  he 
cried,  and  jerked  his  thumb  at  the  impending 
roof.  "Let  the  best  win." 

Tom  nor  Kennedy  looked  around.  Their 
eyes  were  straight  ahead.  They  were  running 
neck  and  neck;  and  a  moment  later  both  help 
ers  ducked  in  together  to  withdraw  the  four- 
foot  drills  and  clamp  the  six-foot  steel  in  the 
resting  chucks.  Together  they  slipped  back 
and  the  two  sluggers  again  began  their  crash 
ing  song.  Half  way  down  this  length  Ken 
nedy  withdrew  his  drill  and  slipped  an  iron 
nut  into  the  hole.  In- this  manner  a  runner 
makes  his  steel  bite  into  the  face  of  the  rock 
where  it  is  parted  by  a  seam.  The  interrup 
tion  gave  Tom  a  marked  advantage.  He  was 
well  down  toward  the  end  of  the  six  foot  when 
Kennedy  began  again.  But  a  moment  later 
he  stopped  his  machine  and  did  as  The  Dyna 
miter  had  done. 

"Hell,"  shouted  Ryan,  "the  rock  is  stayin' 
even  wit  them."  He  whipped  a  look  at  the 
roof  and  the  exultation  faded  from  his  face; 
it  became  very  grave.  The  hanging  mass  had 


108  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

separated  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  rock  that 
held  it,  a  barely  perceptible  interval  had  begun 
to  show.  Even  as  he  looked  it  seemed  to  widen 
a  little.  He  nudged  Tarpy. 

"Lave  them  be,"  The  Walker  called  back; 
"they'd  fight  the  man  that  touched  either  av 
them;  lave  them  run  ut  out  or  go  to  hell  as 
they  please."  Ryan  shook  his  head  but  he 
made  no  answer.  After  that  he  watched  the 
patch  of  shaky  roof  as  much  as  he  did  the  two 
men  beneath  it — as  though  the  mass  of  rock 
were  a  third  contestant  in  the  race. 

On  the  eight-foot  length  Kennedy  forged 
ahead.  He  was  running  in  even  hard  rock 
and  he  cranked  her  down  as  fast  as  the  steel 
would  bite  its  way.  Tom's  drill,  hampered  by 
some  soft  ground,  was  progressing  haltingly 
and  he  lost  precious  time  nursing  it  along. 
On  the  ten-foot  The  Dynamiter  struck  a  small 
fault  which  Tom  did  not  find  and  they  drew 
together  again. 

The  Old  Man  bent  to  Tarpy's  ear.  "If 
that  Mick  don't  beat  this  here  mine  wrecker," 
he  cried,  "I'll  throw  him  aff  the  end  of  the 
dump  in  the  marnin'."  His  face  was  aflame 
with  excitement.  Then  he  cast  his  eyes  over- 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  109 

head  and  became  silent;  he  frowned  uneasily. 

Neither  Tom  nor  Kennedy  had  looked  any 
where  save  into  the  murk  before  them.  They 
were  holding  their  idle  cranks  now  while  the 
helpers  clamped  the  twelve-foot  steel  and  The 
Dynamiter  for  the  first  time  let  his  eyes  wander. 
He  saw  The  Old  Man  staring  at  the  ceiling. 
He  laughed  and  spat;  then  touched  Tom  on 
the  shoulder  and  pointed  to  the  loosened  rock. 
It  hung  as  it  had  hung  for  some  time  begin 
ning  to  peel  away,  ready  to  rend  free  at  any 
moment  and  crash  down  upon  them.  Tom 
glanced  at  it  then  looked  at  The  Dynamiter's 
face,  cleft  deep  with  scowling  lines,  black  with 
oil,  derisive.  His  eyes  narrowed  and  without 
any  other  change  of  expression  he  turned  to 
his  machine. 

A  moment  later  they  were  pounding  down 
the  twelve-foot  steel.  Both  machines  were 
running  fair  and  free  to  all  appearances,  sway 
ing  slowly,  regularly  from  side  to  side  with 
their  even  play  when  Tom  shut  off  his  air. 
His  drill  slowed  in  a  midstroke  and  stopped. 
He  touched  his  helper  on  the  shoulder  and 
gestured  briefly  with  his  right  hand.  The 
man  crawled  in  beside  the  slugger — Kennedy's 


110  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

chuck  touched  his  loose  oilskin  coat  as  it  tore 
its  whirling  way — and  began  loosening  the 
nuts  that  held  the  drill. 

"Green!"  The  Old  Man  shouted,  <cthinkin' 
of  slips  when  there  is  none.  He's  beat  now." 

"Wait  a  bit,"  The  Walker  told  him,  "Gun 
ner  Flynn  says  the  lad  knows  all  he  does.  Be 
aisy." 

Tom  was  holding  the  drill  by  its  flaring 
end,  looking  at  the  bit.  He  nodded  to  his 
helper;  while  the  man  got  a  fresh  steel  from 
the  pile  behind  them  Tom  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  and  took  out  an  iron  nut.  He  crept 
forward  and  rammed  this  into  the  driven  hole. 
The  helper  slipped  in  the  new  drill  after  it. 
Tom  half -opened  the  air  valve  and  let  this 
one  pound  slowly  against  the  piece  of  metal. 
He  looked  across  at  Kennedy  and  smiled. 
The  Dynamiter  was  withdrawing  his  steel,  run 
now  to  its  full  length.  He  met  the  slow,  sure 
smile  with  a  sneer. 

A  shower  of  loose  particles  fell  from  the 
hanging  rock;  it  rattled  down  between  them. 
Neither  noticed  it;  or  if  they  noticed,  neither 
heeded. 

While  Kennedy  was  feeding  the  fourteen- 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN  111 

foot  steel,  Tom  looked  again.  His  own 
machine  was  running  full  speed  on  the  last  of 
the  twelve.  The  Dynamiter's  air  valve  had 
begun  coughing  irregularly.  As  Tom  looked, 
the  helper  sprang  forward,  crouching,  a  bar  of 
iron  in  his  hand,  and  began  beating  upon  the 
binding  drill. 

The  Walker  nudged  Ryan,  "What  did  I 
tell  ye?"  he  cried,  "he's  struck  that  slip." 

"Struck  ut,"  growled  Ryan  to  himself,  "I 
think  he's  been  on  ut  this  five  minutes  witout 
knowin'  ut.  'Tis  that  that  hurry  does." 

"Stuck  fast,"  he  muttered  a  moment  later. 

Kennedy's  machine  was  still.  The  Dyna 
miter  was  wrestling  alongside  his  helper  to 
free  the  drill  from  the  hole  in  whose  recesses 
it  had  wedged  itself. 

While  the  two  men  were  still  striving,  Tom's 
helper  tossed  the  last  drill  back  over  the  muck- 
heap.  And  when  Tom  came  back  from  the 
jumbo  where  he  had  borne  his  inert  slugger, 
The  Dynamiter  closed  his  air  valve  for  the 
releasing  of  the  fourteen-foot  length.  He 
stepped  aside  just  as  the  mass  of  granite 
crashed  down  where  he  had  been. 

"That,"  said  Ryan  to  Tarpy  on  their  way  to 


112  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

the  portal,  "is  the  last  bit  of  foolishness  I'll 
stand  for.  If  ever  ye  see  or  hear  of  anny  fool 
doing  the  likes  again  and  don't  fire  him  on 
the  spot,  I'll  fire  ye." 

The  Walker  listened  gravely,  "  'Twas  wort' 
the  watchin'  annyhow,"  he  said,  "even  if  ut  did 
keep  us  up  till  daylight." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THAT  was  the  winter  for  which  Snowslide  is 
best  remembered.  Old-time  drill  runners, 
"driving  tunnel"  around  stoves  of  far-off 
camps  still  tell  of  it;  the  winter  of  the  forty- 
foot  drifts  at  the  summit,  of  the  pneumonia 
epidemic,  the  falling  rock  and  the  big  free 
fight. 

Gray  clouds  hung  low  among  the  hidden 
peaks  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  flakes  for 
days  at  a  time.  Trains  stuck  in  foothill  cuts 
and  the  camp  was  out  of  the  world  for  long  in 
tervals.  Chinook  winds  swept  lazily  inland 
and  ate  the  snow  in  a  night.  Right  after  them 
came  zero  weather;  and  the  damp  air,  suddenly 
congealed  to  sharpness,  left  sickness  in  the 
bunk-houses.  It  was  the  winter  of  which  they 
tell  when  the  carelessly  buried  dead  appeared  in 
the  camp's  little  graveyard  among  the  hem 
locks  on  the  mountain  side  at  every  thaw. 
Shaking  rock  masses  peeled  away  from  the 
113 


114  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

heading  roof  three  times  that  winter,  crushing 
men  as  they  fell.  A  heading  runner,  muck 
ing  out  after  a  shot,  thrust  his  pickpoint  into 
a  stick  of  unexploded  dynamite  and  vanished 
utterly  taking  half  a  dozen  others  with  him. 
A  sombre  gray  winter  of  fatalities,  and  there 
was  no  sun. 

It  was  a  winter  of  restlessness  and  disor 
ganization.  Men  growled  over  the  quality  of 
the  food  and  quit  good  jobs  for  no  tangible 
reason.  The  lust  for  moving  on — the  curse 
of  the  hard  rock  men,  the  necessary  affliction 
that  made  them  ready  to  go  anywhere  where 
progress  called  for  labor — descended  upon 
many.  Twenty  drill  runners  disappeared  one 
payday  and  it  was  three  months  before  the 
first  of  them  came  drifting  back.  By  bunk- 
house  stoves  these  prodigals  told  of  work  in 
sunny  California,  of  work  in  Alaska,  where 
wages  ran  to  eight  and  ten  dollars  a  day,  and 
of  work  at  Galveston  where  gulf  breezes  had 
fanned  their  cheeks.  The  tales  made  their  au 
ditors  restless.  Rumors  of  other  jobs  were 
spreading  constantly  and  getting  serious  dis 
cussion;  jobs  in  far  places,  inviting  because 
the  distance  was  great;  jobs  with  fabulous 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  115 

wages  magnified  by  those  who  discoursed  upon 
them. 

Tom  heard  the  talk;  he  listened  to  it  many; 
evenings.  It  made  something  stir  within  him, 
something  which  he  did  not  understand,  a 
vague  blood  movement  that  kept  him  restless 
nights  and  roused  dissatisfaction  when  he  was 
at  work.  He  wanted  to  go  somewhere  else ;  he 
had  been  here  too  long.  Twice  when  he  drew 
his  check  it  was  only  the  accident  of  snowbound 
trains  that  held  him  to  the  camp. 

That  winter  Jerry  Morley  got  a  shift 
of  hard-fisted,  reckless  runners  and  left  the 
job  with  the  most  of  them  to  loaf  for  weeks 
in  the  Gem  dance  hall,  until  they  gave  the 
place  so  hard  a  name  that  Jack  Tarpy,  The 
Walker,  led  a  storming  party  to  drive  the  rev 
elers  back  to  work.  In  Mexican  deserts  and 
beneath  the  shadows  of  Alaskan  glaciers  they 
sing  epics  of  that  fight  to-day.  It  was  the 
big  payday,  the  one  that  came  two  weeks  late 
because  of  delayed  trains. 

Other  paydays  stood  out  in  Snowslide's  his 
tory;  above  them  all  the  one  in  March  of  that 
year.  The  hemlock  forests  were  black  below 
the  glistening  summits  that  afternoon.  In 


116  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

the  canyon  soggy  drifts  had  grown  dull  gray. 
The  breeze  from  seaboard  carried  damp 
warmth.  It  was  heavy  with  that  mournful 
laziness  of  air  that  makes  the  blood  stir  in  the 
veins  and  brings  memories  of  places  which  one 
has  never  seen.  In  the  darkening  afternoon  it 
sighed  among  the  hemlocks,  and  the  shift 
emerging  from  the  tunnel's  depths  stared 
vaguely  off  into  the  whispering  branches  above 
the  gray  snow.  One  or  two  of  the  men  halted 
and  lifted  their  faces,  snuffing  as  horses  smell 
the  air. 

They  were  big  men,  strong  with  the  animal 
within  them.  They  were  close  to  the  earth. 
It  moved  them  subtly ;  they  did  not  know  how. 
This  first  touch  of  spring,  lowering  from  dark, 
damp  skies,  fell  over  them  and  enwrapped 
them  like  a  blanket.  It  was  the  call  of  grasses 
in  their  first  stirring  to  uncurl  beneath  the 
snow,  of  unborn  flowers,  of  fair  skies  still  un 
cleared;  the  summons  of  the  season,  that  had 
always  bidden  their  forbears,  but  little  rougher 
and  little  hairier  than  themselves,  to  pick  up 
their  spears  and  wander.  The  earth  called, 
and  as  the  call  reached  them  they  became 
vaguely  discontent. 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  117 

Tom  strode  among  them  his  big  face  to  the 
breeze,  his  eye  set  far  away.  He  was  uneasy; 
the  feeling  that  had  come  over  him  in  the  win 
ter  when  he  hearkened  to  the  tales  of  other 
places,  was  with  him  now;  that  and  something 
more.  He  walked  in  silence  and  suddenly  he 
caught  his  breath  without  knowing  why.  The 
stirring  air  carried  by  a  faint  whiff  of  balsam. 
High  overhead  came  the  call  of  wild  geese 
speeding  northward. 

There  were  sixty  of  the  shift,  walking  to 
gether  to  the  depot  where  their  checks  awaited 
them.  And  as  each  man  left  the  station  win 
dow  he  went  straight  toward  the  town.  The 
Old  Man,  gossiping  with  The  Doctor  in  the 
postoffice,  heard  the  tramp  of  their  passing 
feet  and  looked  around  at  them.  He  knew 
them  as  they  did  not  know  themselves.  He 
turned  to  The  Doctor. 

"There'll  be  hell  to  pay  to-night,"  said  he. 

He  was  of  their  breed;  his  body  had  grown 
big  living  their  life.  He  stepped  to  the  door 
and  the  soft,  warm  breeze  came  to  his  nostrils. 
He  sniffed  it.  Looking  upward  suddenly, 
"wild  geese,"  he  said.  He  stood  there  in  the 
doorway;  while  the  men  trooped  by.  "Hell  to 


118  THE    HARD   ROCK   MAN 

pay,"  he  repeated  half  to  himself.  The  heavy 
air  fanned  his  cheek  carrying  damp  odors  of 
the  hidden  earth.  He  looked  in  at  The  Doc 
tor,  "I'm  goin'  to  stay;  downtown  an'  watch 
ut,"  he  muttered. 

The  row  of  flimsy  wooden  buildings  that 
comprised  the  town  showed  like  a  yellow  scar 
against  the  gray  snow.  OBef  ore  them  the  side 
walk  shook  to  the  tramp  of  heavy  feet.  Over 
head  the  cloth  signs  billowed  lazily  and 
ragged  streamers  from  their  edges  fluttered 
carelessly.  Within  the  wide  doors,  the  long 
rooms  were  filling.  Groups  of  men  talked 
noisily  before  the  unpainted  pine  bars.  The 
bartenders  polished  their  glasses  steadily,  get 
ting  ready  for  the  long  night's  work ;  they  were 
beady-eyed  men  with  hair  plastered  tight  over 
their  low  foreheads.  At  the  green-clothed  ta 
bles  the  lead- faced  gamblers  ran  their  stacks  of 
chips  together  between  their  long,  white  fingers, 
making  a  clicking  noise;  the  sound  came  cease 
lessly,  suggestive  of  the  chips  that  made  it, 
alluring.  In  the  rear  where  the  raised  floors 
extended  back  beneath  acetylene  lamps,  knots 
of  dance  hall  women  were  smoking  cigarettes 
and  laughing  mirthlessly  at  nothing. 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  119 

the  station  window  the  last  of  the  wait 
ing  line  was  melting  before  the  agent's  swift 
payments.  He  was  a  lean-faced  man  with 
hollow  cheeks  and  lack-lustre  eyes;  he  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  men  whom  he 
served;  his  world  was  far  apart  from  theirs, 
along  the  message-laden  wires  that  paralleled 
the  track.  He  shoved  each  paper  check 
through  the  window  with  an  air  of  weary  in 
difference.  As  he  got  his  slip,  the  laborer 
stepped  to  one  side,  unfolded  it,  and  departed, 
and  another  took  his  place.  It  was  like  ma 
chinery.  Tom  waited  his  turn  among  the  last, 
his  helper  behind  him.  "Kennedy  is  drunk," 
the  helper  was  saying,  "he's  been  downtown 
since  morning." 

Tom  nodded  vaguely;  he  was  thinking  of 
other  things.  His  mind  was  wandering  to 
places  that  he  had  never  seen,  of  which  he  had 
never  heard.  He  felt  the  heaviness  of  his 
blood,  the  surcharged  life  within  him,  the  ac 
cumulation  of  winter's  storage  of  heat  and 
strength.  It  pulsed  in  every  vein;  it  made  his 
limbs  leaden  like  a  laziness ;  it  made  him  rest 
less,  demanding  that  it  be  unloaded.  Far  off, 
in  the  forest  male  animals  were  moving  through! 


120  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

the  damp  snow,  rubbing  their  fur  against  the 
tree  trunks,  snuffing  the  heavy  air,  growling 
with  the  desire  of  the  season  to  fight  one  an 
other  for  their  mates,  preparing  instinctively 
for  their  first  wanderings.  Tom  felt  a  wave 
of  disgust  for  the  work,  its  steady  monotony, 
for  the  black  hole  reverberating  with  noises, 
for  the  camp,  the  cook-house  where  he  ate 
coarse  food,  the  bunk-house  where  he  slept  be 
tween  heavy  blankets.  He  yawned  and 
stretched  his  big  arms  wearily. 

"Lookin'  fer  trouble,"  he  heard  the  helper 
say. 

He  took  his  place  at  the  window.  "Who's 
lukkin'  fer  throuble?"  he  asked  half  irritably 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Kennedy,"  said  the  helper  eagerly,  "I've 
been  tellin'  ye,  he—." 

Tom  turned  his  check  in  his  hand.  "To  hell 
wit  Kennedy,"  he  growled.  "Lave  him  be." 

He  walked  away  alone,  up  the  track.  All 
winter  he  and  Kennedy  had  run  side  by  side, 
racing  in  the  heading.  Sometimes  Tom  had 
won  and  sometimes  The  Dynamiter.  As  the 
season  had  worn  on  the  former  had  slowly 
forged  ahead.  Most  often  of  late  it  had  been 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

he  who  had  torn  down  his  machine  first.  And 
yet  there  remained  open  the  question  of  supe 
riority  between  them.  The  rivalry  had  not 
subsided;  it  had  grown.  They  still  toiled  side 
by  side,  elbow  close  to  elbow,  never  speaking, 
the  eyes  of  each  taking  sidelong  note  of  the 
other's  progress.  And  there  had  grown — in 
evitably;  born  of  the  rivalry  and  the  innate  dif 
ferences  in  these  men,  differences  which  made 
each  antagonistic  to  the  other — a  deeper  feel 
ing.  The  men  about  them  had  seen  this,  and 
because  these  two  were  the  biggest  men  in 
camp,  the  camp  had  come  to  know  it.  And 
now,  knowing  the  thing  that  must  come  from 
it,  the  camp  was  waiting  for  this  thing — the 
ultimate  settlement  of  physical  superiority,  the 
testing  of  man  against  man,  the  fight. 

But  Tom  was  not  thinking  of  Kennedy  now. 
The  camp  lay  ahead  of  him,  the  cluster  of  pine 
buildings,  the  bunk-house  and  the  cook-house. 
He  had  a  fixed  idea  of  going  there ;  he  intended 
to  put  by  all  of  this  check;  perhaps  he  might 
see  some  good  chance  calling  him  elsewhere 
this  month.  But  the  thought  of  these  build 
ings  revolted  him;  he  was  sick  of  them. 

From  the  upper  air  came  a  wild,  minor  note; 


18S  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

a  male  brandt  leading  his  flock  northward  was 
summoning  the  laggards  where  the  widespread 
triangle  flared.  Tom  halted  in  his  tracks. 
The  heavy  breeze  touched  his  cheeks  in  soft 
caress.  Then  he  heard  a  burst  of  sound  and 
he  glanced  whence  it  had  come,  toward  the  row 
of  unpainted  wooden  buildings.  In  the  post- 
office  door  he  saw  The  Old  Man  gazing  up 
ward  at  the  sky.  He  saw  the  crowd  on  the 
board  sidewalk;  from  a  wide-open  door  came 
a  medley  of  noises,  scuffing  of  many  feet, 
tinkle  of  a  piano,  a  shout  of  laughter.  He 
watched  the  crowd  before  the  bar  staring  at 
them  as  a  detained  schoolboy  stares  through 
the  open  window  at  his  companions  rioting  on 
the  playground.  And  suddenly  the  vague 
restlessness  within  him  centered  and  became 
a  longing.  He  shook  his  wide  shoulders  and 
turned  his  back  upon  the  camp;  he  hurried 
whither  the  lure  drew. 

The  Old  Man  and  The  Doctor  were  stand 
ing  inside  the  postoffice  door  as  he  passed. 
They  were  talking  eagerly;  their  words  came 
to  him.  "Wait  a  half  hour  and  I'll  be  with 
you,"  The  Doctor  was  saying. 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  123 

"We  c'n  get  Smith  an'  Anderson,"  said  The 
Old  Man,  "they'll  be  through  runnin'  them 
levels  by  that  time." 

"And  have  a  little  dinner  in  Dolan's  res 
taurant,"  The  Doctor  said.  "He  can  broil  a 
steak;  I've  some  wine  back  here.  My;  wife's 
away." 

"I  wisht  mine  was,"  Tom  heard  ,TKe  Old 
Man  mutter. 

The  sidewalk  before  the  dance  halls  was 
lined  with  the  men  of  Snowslide.  Many  still 
wore  the  garb  in  which  they  had  toiled,  oil 
skins,  rubber  boots  and  squam  hats,  the  squam 
hats  tilted  back  from  their  lined  foreheads. 
They  leaned  against  the  sidewalk's  rail,  talk 
ing  in  groups;  their  laughter  boomed;  their 
faces  were  alight;  recklessness  blazed  from 
them.  Now  and  then  a  knot  of  them  swag 
gered  away  together  into  one  of  the  wide  doors. 
Again  one  came  forth  from  a  saloon  striding 
aggressively;  another  followed  leaping,  caper 
ing  heavily  in  his  rubber  boots,  whooping. 
Always  from  within  came  the  babel  of  tongues, 
the  clicE  of  the  chips,  the  metallic  beat  of  the 
pianos.  Before  the  walk  the  gray  snow  was 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

littered  with  heaps  of  broken  bottles ;  overhead 
the  cloth  signs  billowed  lazily;  their  ragged 
edges  fluttering  in  the  languorous  breeze. 

The  Cartender  burst  from  the  line  at  the 
sidewalk's  rail.  He  smote  Tom's  chest  with 
his  gnarled  fist.  His  broad  face  was  ex 
panded  to  a  laugh;  his  big  features  reeked 
with  happiness.  "Come  on,"  he  cried,  "come 
on  an'  have  a  drink!"  He  struck  Tom  again 
and  piled  epithets  upon  him,  endearing  each 
appellation  by  the  word  "Old."  "Where  you 
been?"  he  demanded  as  though  they  had  not 
seen  each  other  for  months.  He  repeated  the 
question  aggressively  at  intervals.  They  went 
together  to  Riley's  dance  hall.  It  was  the  ren 
dezvous  for  the  older  drill  runners,  the  hard 
rock  men.  Among  them  it  was  whispered 
that  The  Old  Man  had  an  interest  in  the  place 
and  so  they  clung  to  it. 

Riley  was  behind  the  bar,  at  the  end  by  the 
safe,  cashing  pay  checks.  As  he  got  his 
money  every  man  moved  a  few  feet  to  one 
side  and  slapped  some  of  it  down,  calling  for 
a  drink.  Then  the  bartender,  pushing  for 
ward  the  bottle,  tossed  the  coin  into  the  cash 
register;  and  the  garnering  back  was  begun. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  125 

Giving  out  the  money,  Biley  smiled  constantly, 
a  non-committal  smile.  He  was  a  big-waisted 
man,  shrewd-eyed,  imperturbable.  Always  he 
kept  one  eye  roving  between  the  bartender  and 
the  cash  register.  The  Cartender  introduced 
Tom  to  him  and  the  three  of  them  drank  to 
gether.  Then  Biley  pressed  cigars  upon  them 
and  insisted  that  they  remain  in  the  place. 
"Enjoy  yourselves,"  he  told  them. 

The  Cartender  tilted  his  cigar  upward  and 
puffed  aggressively.  Tom  clenched  his  be 
tween  his  teeth,  so  that  it  slanted  downward, 
and  looked  about  the  room.  Already  the 
heaviness  was  leaving  his  limbs ;  the  vague  un 
easiness  was  departing  before  a  fierce  warmth. 
The  liquor  was  beginning  to  work.  He  thrust 
his  big  hand  into  his  pocket.  "Let's  have 
another,"  he  said. 

About  them  the  hard-faced  men  of  Snow- 
slide  were  moving  restlessly,  like  milling  cattle, 
shouting,  muttering,  exploding  oaths;  the 
gamblers  were  droning  their  ceaseless  invita 
tion  in  sing-song  monotone,  clicking  their  cel 
luloid  chips  in  long  accompaniment;  on  the 
raised  dance  floor  the  women  were  smoking, 
laughing  drearily.  He  watched  them,  puff- 


126          THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

ing  slowly  at  his  cigar,  listening  gravely  to 
The  Cartender,  now  grown  enthusiastic  over 
small  things. 

"Kennedy's  down  to  The  Gem,"  said  The 
Cartender  finally.  "He  says  he's  goin'  to 
hammer  hell  out  o'  ye." 

Tom  scowled.  "  'Tis  aisy  'fer  Kennedy  to 
talk,"  he  growled.  "Lave  him  blow  if  he  likes 
ut;  I  ain't  huntin'  throuble." 

As  they  roamed  around  the  room,  many 
spoke  to  Tom;  he  seemed  to  be  a  center  of  at 
traction.  Men  with  whom  he  had  never  had 
words  hunted  him  out,  and  every  one  of  them 
had  something  to  say  of  The  Dynamiter,  some 
repetition  of  threats,  for  the  most  part  wildly 
exaggerated.  Although  he  responded  to  them 
lightly  or  not  at  all,  Tom  felt  his  anger  rise, 
and  he  felt  more  definitely  the  grim  antag 
onism  that  had  grown  during  the  winter. 
Finally,  after  an  hour,  he  turned  away  irri 
tably  from  two  drill  runners,  who  were  harping 
on  the  subject.  "Let's  go  eat,"  he  said. to  The 
Cartender;  "I'm  hungry." 

"Coming  back?"  Biley  called  to  them,  as 
they  passed  toward  the  door.  They  nodded 
and  he  resumed  his  placid  demeanor,  watching 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

the  bartender's  treatment  of  the  cash  register 
from  the  tail  of  his  eye. 

In  the  door  they  collided  with  Jack  Tarpy. 
The  Walker  was  hurrying  in,  as  though  he  had 
been  called  on  business.  His  face  was  set  with 
determination.  "Come  an'  watch  me,"  he 
said;  "I'm  goin'  to  bust  that  crap  game.  I'll 
get  back  what  ut's  got  from  me.  Come  on!" 
They  shook  their  heads.  ".We're  aff  to  eat," 
said  The  Cartender. 

"Come  in  when  ye're  tru,"  called  Tarpy 
after  them.  "Ye'll  find  me  here,  gettin'  that 
tinhorn's  roll." 

At  Dolan's,  Jerry  Morley  and  The  Gunner 
hailed  them  joyfully.  "We  lukked  fer  ye  at 
The  Gem,"  grinned  Jerry.  "Yer  friend,  The 
Dynamiter's  there."  The  four  of  them  sat 
together,  midway  down  the  room.  In  the  rear 
they  saw  The  Old  Man  and  The  Doctor,  din 
ing  with  two  of  the  civil  engineers.  The  table 
was  resplendent  with  white  linen  and  silver 
knives  and  forks.  At  its  head  The  Doctor  sat, 
white-collared,  his  loud-patterned  tweeds  neatly 
pressed;  his  manner  was  punctilious.  The 
engineers  were  badgering  him  about  some  es- 


128  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

capade  in  Spokane  which  they  had  invented. 
He  smiled,  half  liking  it.  "Really  now,  gen 
tlemen,"  he  said.  "My  word!  What  rot! 
Absurd!" 

The  Old  Man  drank  his  wine  at  a  gulp  and 
joined  in  the  chaffing.  His  wit  set  them  all 
into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"The  Quid  Divil,"  said  Jerry.  "He's  billed 
fer  a  jamboree  to-night.  I  know  the  signs." 

The  Gunner  looked  at  Tom  quizzically  as 
they  went  out.  "Want  to  go  to  The  Gem?" 
he  asked.  Tom  shook  his  head.  "I'll  hunt  no 
throuble,"  he  asserted.  They  followed  him  to 
Riley's. 

The  place  was  full  now.  Men  stood  in  a 
long  line  before  the  bar;  they  danced  on 
the  raised  platform  with  listless  women,  who 
smoked  cigarettes  as  they;  waltzed;  they 
moved  restlessly  about  the  middle  of  the 
room,  hunting  companions,  hunting  enemies, 
jostling  one  another,  laughing,  cursing. 
The  pianos  were  thumping  staccatto;  the 
gamblers  were  droning  their  ceaseless  sing 
song  invitations,  clicking  their  stacks  of  chips. 
Through  the  wide  doors  the  sounds  went  forth 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  129 

where  the  flare  of  the  acetylene  lamps  'fell  on 
the  gray  snow,  hardening  now  to  crispness  in 
the  clean,  cold  air  of  night. 

Riley  greeted  them  with  his  non-committal 
smile.  They  drank  with  him,  and  while  they 
were  raising  their  glasses,  a  man  shouldered 
his  way  roughly  among  them,  throwing  a  yel 
low-backed  bill  upon  the  bar.  It  was  Jack 
Tarpy.  His  face  was  grim;  hard  lines  cre- 
vassed  it.  He  did  not  look  at  them.  "Your 
dice  is  crooked,"  he  cried  to  Riley.  "I'll  beat 
them  yet."  He  burst  into  curses. 

"Have  a  drink,"  said  Riley  calmly.  The 
Walker  gulped  down  the  whiskey  and  stamped 
back  to  the  crap  table.  They  saw  him  there 
a  half  an  hour  later,  bending  over  it  as  he 
threw  the  dice,  watching  them  as  they  rolled, 
swearing  at  them,  talking  to  them,  as  though 
they  were  alive  and  would  obey  him. 

Late  in  the  evening,  The  Old  Man  and  The 
Doctor  came,  with  them  the  two  civil  engineers. 
Riley  gave  them  chairs  behind  the  bar  and 
they  sat  watching  the  crowd.  The  eyes  of 
many  went  toward  them.  Then  a  nipper  boy 
rushed  in  and  shouted  something  excitedly. 
The  Gunner  turned  to  Tom.  They  were 


130          THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

standing   at   the   bar's    edge.     "Kennedy;   is 
comin',' '  He  said. 

Outside  sounded  the  heavy  tramp  of  booted 
feet,  and  a  dozen  of  the  Coeur  Sd'Aleners 
trooped  in.  The  Dynamiter  was  among  them; 
he  loomed  above  them  all.  His  deep-lined  face 
was  aflame  with  ferocity;  his  bleared  eyes 
glinted  beneath  his  frowning  brows.  The 
noises  of  the  long  room  died. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  Coeur  d'Aleners  advanced  straight  to 
the  bar.  The  tramp  of  their  booted  feet  was 
the  only  sound  in  the  place.  Rough  voices 
stopped  in  mid-syllables;  the  piano  halted  on 
a  high  note;  the  women  ceased  dancing  and 
stood,  abandoned  by  their  partners.  Even  the 
lead-faced  gamblers  dropped  their  shuffling 
chips.  Every  eye  was  on  the  invaders.  They 
gained  the  bar  and  stood,  backs  to  it,  their 
faces  toward  the  room.  Twelve  men,  they 
held  their  places  as  though  this  were  to  be  a 
stand  against  the  crowd. 

They  were  not  popular.  Good  drill  run 
ners,  each  and  all,  they  were  of  a  strange  breed; 
miners  among  hard  rock  men.  Pariahs  in  the 
mountains  whence  they  had  come,  black-listed 
by  employers,  feared  by  many  of  the  working- 
men  whose  cause  their  violence  had  hurt,  they 
had  wandered  here  to  find  sidelong  looks  and 
rivalry.  And  they  Had  met  both  boldly.  Al 
ways  thejr  had  hung  together,  a  minor  faction. 

131 


132  (THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

As  the^  stood,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  their  reck 
less  eyes  swept  the  silent  room.  Their  lined 
faces,  deeper  lined  this  night  from  drink,  chal 
lenged  those  on  whom  they  looked.  Then 
Kennedy  moved  toward  Tom  and  the  silence 
passed. 

The  crowd  surged  forward.  Its  center  now, 
the  point  toward  which  its  members  were  press 
ing,  was  the  spot  where  these  two  giants  stood 
side  by  side.  Each  of  them  was  facing  the 
bar;  the  elbow  of  each  was  touching  the  elbow 
of  the  other.  And  neither  yielded  ground. 
Kennedy  slammed  down  a  coin.  "Give  us  a 
drink,"  he  shouted.  Behind  their  white  ob 
scuration  his  eyes  shot  fire. 

Though  The  Dynamiter  was  pressing  hard 
against  him,  Tom  did  not  move.  He  was  ig 
noring  Kennedy  elaborately — too  elaborately; 
this  could  not  last.  The  situation  was  preg 
nant;  the  fight  was  there,  about  to  burst.  It 
needed  but  one  slight  movement  from  either 
man,  a  single  word  of  direct  address.  Ken 
nedy  prepared  to  speak  that  word.  He  tossed 
his  liquor  down  his  thick,  corded  throat  and 
turned  toward  Tom,  a  sneer  upon  his  lips.  At 
the  same  moment  The  Doctor  leaped  to  his 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN          133 

chair  top.  Standing  on  this  eminence,  he 
raised  a  thin,  white  hand.  "Gentlemen!"  he 
cried. 

The  eyes  in  the  room  went  toward  him. 
Tom  and  Kennedy  raised  their  faces  to  stare 
at  him.  He  stood  straight,  tall,  high-collared, 
immaculate  in  his  loud-patterned  tweeds,  his 
hand  upraised.  His  voice  was  elaborately 
formal,  as  though  this  rough  crowd  were  a 
polite  audience.  He  paused  a  moment  in  this 
attitude  and  then: 

"Gentlemen,"  he  repeated,  "in  behalf  of 
my  friends,  Mr.  Ryan  and  Mr.  Eiley,  I  have 
a  few  words  to  say  to  you."  Those  who  were 
near  heard  a  muttered  oath  from  The  Old  Man 
and  saw  The  Doctor's  hand  sweep  toward  him 
in  a  silencing  gesture  as  he  continued  in  im 
pressive  tones.  "In  the  first  place,  I  have  an 
invitation  to  deliver.  I  ask  you,  each  and  all, 
to  take  your  places  quietly  at  the  bar  and  have 
a  drink  on  me.  And  while  you  drink,  gentle 
men,  I  would  ask  Mr.  Morton  and  Mr.  Ken 
nedy  to  step  behind  the  bar.  ,We  have  a  word 
to  say  to  them." 

He  paused.  A  babel  rose,  voices  raised  in 
exultation  at  the  invitation;  voices  raised  in 


134  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

anger,  outcries  of  disappointment.  These  last 
rose  above  the  others.  He  heard  them  and 
raised  his  hand.  "Just  a  moment,"  he  cried 
loudly,  and  the  silence  fell  again.  "There  will 
be  a  fight,"  he  shouted.  A  whoop  of  joy  rose 
from  the  room's  four  corners  and  the  crowd 
shoved  forward  en  masse  upon  the  bar. 

The  Doctor  bent  down  and  whispered  a  word 
in  Ryan's  ear.  The  Old  Man  looked  up  in 
astonishment,  then  admiration,  and  then  he 
beckoned  imperiously  to  Tom  and  Kennedy. 
As  they  came  he  turned  again  to  The  Doctor. 
"Ye  saved  a  merry  free-fer-all,"  he  said,  "and 
nawthin'  else  wud."  The  Doctor's  eyes  were 
upon  the  two  approaching  giants.  "Look  at 
them!"  he  said.  "My  word!  Think  of  the 
fight  this  will  be !"  He  rubbed  his  hands. 

The  Old  Man  turned  to  Tom  and  Kennedy. 

"Now,"  said  he;  "listen  here,  ye  two  to  what 
I'm  tellin'  ye.  Ye  want  to  fight;  there's  no 
need  to  talk  of  that.  And,  annyhow,  ye've 
got  to  fight.  We're  goin'  to  let  ye  do  ut  right, 
understand?  We'll  have  no  rough-house  here. 
It's  ye  two  fer  ut.  See?  Stand  up  and  knock 
down.  I'll  see  fair  play  meself ;  and  who  fouls 
has  me  to  deal  wit.  Get  back  now  to  yer 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN          135 

friends  and  shtrrip.  We'll  call  ye  when  we 
want  ye." 

Big  Jerry  and  The  Gunner  met  Tom  as  he 
came  from  behind  the  bar.  With  them  was 
The  Cartender.  His  face  was  no  longer  wide 
with  mirth;  he  looked  anxious.  "Doc.  told 
us,"  said  Big  Jerry,  "  'tis  London  prize  ring. 
Fine  business!" 

"Come  on,"  ordered  The  Gunner,  squinting 
abstractedly,  as  though  he  were  thinking  of 
many  details,  "back  to  the  dance  floor.  Ken 
nedy  is  sthrrippin'  by  the  shtove.  Ye  c'n  lick 
him  to  a  frazzle."  The  Cartender  followed 
them  in  silence  as  they  went,  his  grave  eyes 
fixed  on  Tom. 

"Now,"  said  The  Gunner,  as  he  unbuttoned 
Tom's  shirt,  "get  to  his  shoes,  Jerry.  Listen 
to  me,  Lad.  Ye're  two  av  a  build,  but  ye  shud 
tear  his  block  off,  bein  as  the  whiskey's  got 
him  years  ago,  and  his  wind  has  gone.  All  he 
has  over  ye  is  the  science.  This  is  London 
prize  ring.  That  means  stand  up  and  fight 
fair;  no  bitin',  gougin'  or  foulin'.  When  ye 
knock  him  down  ye  get  a  rest — and  not  until. 
And  ye  cannot  hit  him  when  he's  down.  .Un 
derstand?" 


136          THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Tom  nodded  absently.  He  looked  at  Ken 
nedy  stripping  by  the  stove,  surrounded  by  his 
fellows,  laughing  with  them;  and  then  he  saw 
The  Cartender  staring  at  him  and  he  smiled. 
The  Cartender  smiled  faintly  back.  "Stay 
wit  ut,"  he  said,  as  cheerfully  as  he  knew  how. 

Down  in  the  center  of  the  room,  The  Old 
Man  looked  up  from  superintendence  of  half 
a  dozen  drill  runners,  who  were  roping  off  the 
ring.  "Where's  Jack  Tarpy?"  he  cried. 
There  was  no  answer.  He  repeated  it  and 
someone  pointed  to  the  crap  table,  deserted  now 
by  all  save  The  Walker  and  the  dealer.  Ryan 
made  the  distance  in  two  strides  and  returned, 
his  hand  in  Tarpy 's  coat  collar.  "I  thought 
I  had  yer  promise  that  ye'd  stay  on  the  work 
this  day,"  he  was  saying  slowly.  "Now,  Mr. 
Tarpy;  in  the  marnin'  we  make  that  trip  to 
Leavenworth  on  the  freight,  me  and  ye,  and 
ye  sign  the  pledge  fer  wan  year.  Mind  that. 
Here,  get  a  half  a  dozen  men  at  the  ropes  and 
keep  back  the  crowd!" 

A  moment  later  The  Gunner,  hustling  Tom 
into  the  ring,  whispered  into  his  ear.  "Re 
member  this,"  he  said;  "he's  full  of  whiskey 
and  has  not  the  wind.  Keep  yer  eye  on  his 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  137 

eye  always,  and  make  him  move  round." 
Looking  up  he  saw  The  Doctor,  a  gold  watch 
in  one  hand,  signal  to  Ryan  with  the  other  that 
the  time  was  up.  He  bent  his  head  close  to 
Tom's  again  for  the  final  word.  "He's  been 
tellin'  all  over  town  how  he'll  hammer  hell  out 
o'  ye." 

"Stand  up,"  The  Old  Man's  voice  came 
sharply.  Tom  rose  and  saw  The  Dynamiter 
coming  toward  the  center  of  the  ring.  He 
felt  the  push  of  The  Gunner's  hand  and  went 
to  meet  him.  Ryan  stepped  between  them. 
"Shake  hands,"  he  ordered.  Their  big  palms 
met;  their  eyes  were  on  the  ground;  it  seemed 
as  though  they  could  not  look  into  each  other's 
faces  and  refrain  from  striking.  The  Old 
Man  stood  back;  Tom  found  himself  facing 
Kennedy.  And  then  it  came  over  him  that 
he  did  not  know  how  to  fight. 

It  appalled  him  for  an  instant;  the  realiza 
tion  overwhelmed;  all  other  things  became  as 
nothing.  He  could  not  fight!  This  was  no 
rough  and  tumble  melee  in  a  bunk-house,  this 
cold-blooded  arrangement,  where  he  must  fight 
by  rule.  It  made  him  feel  uncertain.  He 
stood,  his  big  hands  clenched  at  his  sides,  and 


138  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

his  eyes  went  to  Kennedy.  The  Dynamiter 
was  leaping  toward  him,  swinging  his  huge 
fists.  Tom  raised  his  hands  and  Kennedy's 
fists  shot  forward,  the  left  and  then  the  right. 
The  floor  seemed  to  rise  and  strike  him  heavily. 

He  was  up  in  an  instant.  He  did  not  hear 
the  roar  from  the  crowd.  He  did  not  feel  The 
Gunner's  arms  about  his  waist;  the  push  of 
The  Old  Man's  fist  against  his  chest.  He  only 
felt  the  sting  of  a  blow  that  had  come  full  and 
fair  upon  his  mouth,  and  the  warm  trickle  of 
blood  upon  his  lower  lip.  He  was  mad  with  it. 
They  dragged  him,  struggling,  to  his  seat. 

"Aisy  now,  aisy  aisy,"  he  heard  The  Gun 
ner  saying  finally.  "Ye  young  fool,  aisy  and 
listen  to  me.  Do  ye  hear  me  now?"  Tom 
nodded  and  stopped  struggling.  He  saw  The 
Gunner's  puckered  face  close  to  his,  Big  Jerry 
clinging  to  his  legs,  The  Cartender  gazing  at 
him  anxiously.  He  nodded  again  and  turned 
to  The  Gunner.  "How  soon  do  I  get  at  him?" 
he  asked. 

"Soon  enough,"  growled  the  little  man. 
"Listen,  now,  to  me.  Ye  must  kape  yer  head 
and  watch  him.  Kape  yer  eye  on  his;  right 
on  his.  Then  ye  see  when  he  is  going  to  hit. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  139 

Never  take  ut  off.  When  he  leads — when  he 
strikes  at  ye — dodge  ut  wit  yer  head.  Never 
mind  yer  belly;  yer  arms  will  take  care  av  that. 
Kape  clost  to  him;  and,  remember,  hit  him 
whenever  ye  can.  That's  what  ye're  there  f er 
— to  hit  him.  Do  ut  like  ut  was  a  day's  work — 
like  ye  had  to — " 

"Time,"  The  Doctor  called. 

The  Dynamiter  was  coming  toward  him,  on 
the  balls  of  his  stockinged  feet.  He  was 
poised,  half  crouching,  stepping  lightly, 
springing  with  bent  knees,  coming  closer. 
His  shoulders  bent  forward,  ahead  of  his  waist. 
His  huge,  knotted  fists  were  moving  constantly, 
rhythmically,  swinging  to  and  fro  in  front  of 
him,  advancing  now,  now  retreating.  And  the 
great  cabled  muscles  were  slipping  and  writh 
ing  beneath  his  white  skin  like  thick  snakes. 
His  face  was  set,  deep-lined,  ugly;  the  white- 
filmed  eyes  gleamed. 

Instinctively,  Tom  raised  his  fists.  A  roar 
came  from  the  crowd — the  Cceur  d'Aleners 
made  its  bulk — a  roar  of  derision.  Tom  did 
not  hear  it;  he  was  looking  into  Kennedy's 
eyes.  They  met,  foot  to  foot,  and  at  once  he 
saw  the  eyes  flash  a  message,  the  message  of  a 


140  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

coming  blow.  Then  he  struck  out  with  all  the 
mad  anger  that  was  in  him. 

The  movement  brought  a  mighty  change. 
His  mind  centered  upon  it,  upon  the  fact  that 
he  was  striking  to  reach  a  mark.  And  he  be 
came  confident.  He  hardly  felt  the  blow  that 
crashed  against  his  ribs.  His  own  fist  went 
wild,  glancing  from  The  Dynamiter's  shoulder. 
He  struck  again,  and  again  he  failed  to  feel 
the  punishment  that  he  was  getting.  He  only 
knew  that  he  had  hit. 

The  crowd  was  bellowing  now,  a  deep- 
throated  roar,  the  savage  cry  of  savage  men 
watching  two  fellows  fight.  The  roar  deep 
ened,  it  swelled,  the  eyes  of  the  room  hardened 
and  remained  fixed  upon  these  two,  standing 
foot  to  foot,  striking  blow  on  blow,  giving  and 
taking;  taking  eagerly  for  the  pleasure  to  give. 

Thus  they  stood  a  full  three  minutes,  raining 
blows.  The  sound  of  the  bare,  hard  knuckles, 
striking  naked  flesh,  came  in  regular,  sharp 
punctuations  of  the  roar  about  them.  Their 
huge,  bare  bodies  touched.  Tom  felt  the 
sweating  flesh  of  The  Dynamiter's  chest  press 
his.  He  heard  the  gasp  of  its  indrawn  breath. 
And  he  struck.  Suddenly  he  felt  the  shock 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  141 

of  Kennedy's  fist  against  his  cheek  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  falling.  The  Old  Man  was  stand 
ing  over  him  counting  when  his  dazed  senses 
came  back.  He  saw  the  hand  upraised  above 
him  and  he  scrambled  to  his  feet.  His  head 
rang  as  he  walked  to  his  chair. 

"That  was  fighting!"  he  heard  someone  say. 

Big  Jerry  was  throwing  water  on  his  body, 
rubbing  him.  The  Gunner  bent  his  head. 
"Ye're  sure  to  win,"  he  said.  "He's  out  of 
wind  already.  Lad,  can  ye  wrastle?"  Tom 
nodded.  "Sure,"  he  said.  "When  ye  get  in 
clost,"  whispered  The  Gunner,  "grip  him 
round  the  waist;  grip  him,  but  do  not  use  yer 
legs  to  trip;  trow  him  wit  yer  arms.  And  if 
ye  cannot  grip  keep  clost  in  and  rough  ut  as 
ye  did  that  time.  Take  all  he  gives  ye  f  er  the 
fun  av  givin'." 

"Time!"  The  Doctor's  face  was  very 
happy  as  he  looked  up  from  his  watch. 

This  time  Tom  leaped  to  his  feet.  Kennedy 
was  rushing  toward  him,  a  straight  rush,  with 
swinging  fists.  As  The  Dynamiter  came  close 
the  great  fists  hurtled  out.  Tom  ducked  his 
head  and  they  flew  past.  He  closed  beneath 
them  and  gripped  the  naked  waist  with  both  his 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

arms.  For  an  instant  the  two  men  struggled 
desperately,  locked  in  the  embrace.  Then 
Tom  raised  his  arms  with  a  mighty  heave,  and 
Kennedy  swept  through  the  air  and  crashed 
down  on  the  floor. 

The  Dynamiter  was  breathing  a  little  thickly 
when  they  approached  each  other  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  next  round.  He  did  not  seem 
eager  for  the  meeting.  tTom  ran  in.  As  he 
closed,  The  Dynamiter  stepped  warily  to  one 
side;  then  whirled  and  struck  with  all  his  force. 
The  blow  went  past  Tom's  face;  he  felt  the 
breath  of  it.  Catching  himself  in  the  middle 
of  a  stride,  he  turned  and  struck  back  viciously. 
Recovering  his  balance  from  the  shock  of 
Tom's  fist,  Kennedy  drew  in  his  arms.  The 
two  giants  stood,  again,  foot  to  foot,  their  big 
fists  swinging  regularly.  Suddenly  Tom's 
arms  flew  out;  they  locked  and  Kennedy  went 
down. 

"Ye  have  him,  now;  ye  have  him,"  The  Gun 
ner  whispered.  "Kape  ut  up  an'  wear  him 
down.  Hit  him  whenever  ye  can  an'  niver 
lave  him  rest." 

But  Kennedy  did  not  want  rest  now.  He 
came  into  the  center  of  the  ring  like  an  angered 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN          143 

bull.  His  scowling  face  was  evil  with  rage ;  his 
heavy  jaw  was  set.  As  he  rushed,  his  fists 
swung  out;  and  Tom,  wise  in  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  gained,  ducked  beneath  them,  whirl 
ing  round  to  strike  back  as  they  shot  past. 
Kennedy  caught  himself  as  Tom's  blow  went 
home,  and  charged  again.  Again  Tom  avoided 
the  rush,  stepping  to  one  side.  He  was  cool 
now;  his  eyes  were  steady;  and  he  fought  as 
The  Gunner  had  bade  him,  as  though  it  were  a 
day's  work.  He  saw  The  Dynamiter's  chest 
heave  laboredly  as  he  made  a  third  onslaught; 
and  suddenly,  while  Kennedy's  arms  were  still 
outstretched,  he  leaped,  driving  his  fist  before 
him,  down  and  inward,  where  the  bare  waist 
showed.  The  big  body  crumpled  as  the  fist 
shot  home  and  Tom  struck  again,  a  swinging 
blow,  that  met  the  jaw.  Kennedy  fell  limply 
to  the  boards.  The  Old  Man  strode  beside  him 
and  counted  slowly.  When  he  said  "Ten,"  the 
roar  of  the  crowd  drowned  everything. 

Jerry  and  The  Gunner  fell  upon  Tom's 
shoulders.  "Good  boy,"  the  little  man  cried. 
"Iknewye'ddout." 

"Ye  hammered  hell  out  of  him,"  shouted 
Jerry.  "He's  not  come  to  yet."  They; 


144  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

dragged  him  through  the  jamming  crowd  and 
helped  him  don  his  clothes.  As  he  was  button 
ing  his  shirt,  he  saw  The  Cartender  standing 
before  him.  The  Cartender's  face  was  broad, 
radiant,  reeking  good  nature.  He  was  him 
self  again. 

The  Doctor  came  and  shook  Tom  by  the 
hand.  "My  word !"  he  cried.  "It  was  a  fight ; 
the  best  I  ever  saw,  I  think.  A  little  more 
science,  Mr.  Morton,  and  you'll  be  a  wonder." 
He  looked  at  Tom's  bulk.  "What  beef!"  he 
murmured.  "And  the  eye  back  of  it!  My 
word!" 

The  Old  Man  had  delayed  to  catch  The 
Walker.  He  came  now  with  one  hand  twisted 
in  Tarpy's  sleeve.  "  'Twas  a  stem-winder,"  he 
said.  "Jeffries  himself  couldn't  of  done  bet 
ter.  We'll  have  a  drink  on  ut  now." 

At  the  bar  Jack  Tarpy  muttered  something 
in  Ryan's  ear.  The  Old  Man  looked  at  him 
steadily.  "Not  you,"  he  growled.  "Ye  get 
soda  pop.  Understand?" 


CHAPTER  XIV, 

IT  was  six  hours  later  when  Tom  left 
Riley's.  In  the  wan  light  of  the  mountain- 
shadowed  morning,  he  picked  his  way  among 
the  piles  of  broken  bottles  and  slowly  climbed 
the  dump.  He  was  weary  with  loss  of  sleep. 
His  head  rang  with  unaccustomed  drinking. 
The  earth  was  none  too  secure  beneath  his  feet. 
But  he  was  satisfied. 

It  was  the  satiation  of  change,  the  rest  which 
comes  from  spent  energies.  He  had  had  his 
playtime.  Men  of  other  environment  demand 
books  or  chess  or  trout-fishing  or  the  seeking 
of  famous  old  paintings.  The  aesthetic  sense 
of  the  men  of  Snowslide  called  for  cruder 
excitations,  and  their  big  bodies  demanded  a 
major  share  of  dissipation's  amusements. 
Tom  strode  across  the  gray  dump,  toward  the 
tunnel-mouth,  relieved  of  the  oppression  that 
had  weighed  upon  him  the  day  before.  He 
was  eager  to  go  to  work. 

On  his  way  he  saw  two  figures  walking  to- 
145 


146  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

ward  the  depot — a  large  man  and  a  small  man, 
the  small  man  in  the  grasp  of  his  companion. 
It  was  Ryan  and  Jack  Tarpy.  The  Old  Man 
had  kept  his  word;  they  were  hurrying  to  catch 
the  freight  for  Leavenworth,  where  The 
Walker  would  sign  the  pledge  before  the 
priest.  Tom  looked  at  them  and  smiled.  It 
was  the  smile  of  a  man  at  a  child;  of  strength 
on  weakness — tolerant.  He  had  no  appetites. 
And  his  youth  made  him  confident  of  moral 
strength  where  temptation  had  never  attacked. 

He  had  a  feeling  of  security,  of  sureness  in 
himself.  For  he  had  grown ;  he  had  developed 
in  a  night.  As  he  walked  his  head  rang;  but 
it  was  back.  His  eyes  ached;  but  they  looked 
straight  before  him,  masterfully.  He  knew  he 
was  a  leader  with  a  following.  Bully  of  the 
camp,  they  called  him.  It  meant  that  the 
camp  was  at  his  heels.  He  had  prestige. 

From  this  day  he  toiled  in  the  heading  a 
little  apart  from  the  men  about  him.  He 
walked  to  and  from  the  work  among  the  shift, 
a  figure  of  distinction.  In  the  evenings,  when 
he  went  downtown,  men  asked  him  to  drink 
with  them,  and  he  knew  that  they  had  pride 
when  he  accepted  the  invitations.  Heading 


THE    HARD   ROCK   MAN  147 

i 

bosses  nodded  familiarly  to  him  now,  and  called 
him  by  his  first  name.  Men  asked  him  to  arbi 
trate  small  disputes;  his  word  had  weight  in 
the  bunk-houses.  Once  or  twice,  off  the  work, 
The  Old  Man  questioned  him  tersely  regard 
ing  the  rock  in  the  heading. 

He  answered  the  questions  with  wisdom. 
For  he  was  learning  many  things  still,  as  he 
had  learned  them  under  The  Gunner's  tutelage. 
He  was  absorbing  what  others  had  to  give  him, 
watching  always  what  they  did.  Even  when 
he  loafed  about  the  machine  shop  and  timber 
sheds  he  was  picking  up  knowledge  while  he 
gossipped  with  the  mechanics. 

When  Jack  Tarpy  gave  him  the  bench  gang, 
three  months  after  the  fight,  none  were  sur 
prised.  He  took  it  proudly,  with  a  leap  of  joy 
in  his  heart,  but  he  took  it  as  his  due. 

Kennedy  got  a  similar  position  at  about  the 
same  time.  His  shift  preceded  Tom's.  When 
they  met  at  the  change  of  shifts,  they  had  to 
consult  regarding  details  of  the  work.  Re 
sponsibility  had  not  taken  anything  from  The 
Dynamiter's  recklessness.  But  it  had  made  a 
change;  it  was  as  though  there  had  been  a  tem 
pering  process  and  the  absolute  wantonness 


148          THE    HARD   ROCK   MAN 

was  lacking  now.  Meeting  him  on  the  jumbo 
every  day,  Tom  learned  to  respect  this  man 
whom  he  had  fought.  The  two  of  them  had 
found  a  new  rivalry,  a  rivalry  of  emulation, 
each  of  them  trying  to  make  his  gang  do  all 
that  there  was  in  them.  And,  although  this 
competition  was  a  big  thing  with  them,  they 
found  themselves  dealing  with  fairness  in  their 
conferences,  generously  giving  to  each  other 
every  necessary  bit  of  information.  They  had 
grown  bigger  with  their  positions. 

Tom  stood,  these  days,  near  the  edge  of  the 
fourteen-foot  shelf  of  rock,  with  the  reeling 
tripods  thundering  about  him,  and  beneath  his 
feet  the  crew  of  sweating  muckers  shoveling 
the  broken  rock.  He  supervised  it  all.  Oc 
casionally  he  gave  an  order,  shouting  it,  deep- 
toned,  from  his  chest.  And  as  he  shouted,  he 
saw  men  leap  to  obey  him.  His  assertiveness 
grew  and  with  it  his  self-sureness.  There  de 
veloped,  also — with  the  knowledge  that  what 
these  men  did  would  be  charged  to  his  account 
— a  tendency  to  make  up  his  mind  upon  sure 
premises,  and  a  gravity.  He  was  boss;  but 
there  was  no  wantonness  in  his  autocracy. 

Fall  came  and  the  concrete  gangs.     Far  in 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN          149 

the  wake  of  the  roaring  heading,  they  lined  the 
tunnel  with  a  thick  coating  of  crushed  rock  and 
cement.    There  were  more  than  one  hundred 
of  these  men,  wandering  craftsmen,  members 
of  the  same  great  army  of  floaters  to  which  the 
hard  rock  men  belonged.     They  had  something 
of  the  recklessness  that  belonged  to  the  drill 
runners,  the  lack  of  care  of  homeless  men. 
They  rioted  on  pay  days,  and  among  them  were 
fighters.     Rivalries  sprang  up  between  them 
and    the    tunnel    workers;    fights    followed. 
Twice  Big  Jerry  and  Kennedy  came  back  to 
the  bunk-houses  bruised  and  battered  by  a  new 
champion,  an  unknown  fighter.     The  fame  of 
this  man  grew  and  his  name  became  a  byword. 
The  camp  began  to  mention  it  along  with 
Tom's;  to  compare  them,  speculating  on  what 
would  be  the  outcome  of  a  battle  between  them. 
Finally,  drawn  by  public  opinion,  the  encounter 
came,  and  Tom  went  back  to  the  camp  with 
additional  prestige. 

That  winter  they  made  him  heading  boss  and 
some  of  the  best  runners  in  the  camp,  the  older 
men,  who  had  worked  in  every  corner  of  the 
continent  where  there  was  rock  to  rend,  came 
to  him — a  hard-faced,  big-limbed  crew.  Dur- 


150  THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

ing  the  montH  they  bent  their  energies  to  toil 
beneath  his  hard,  gray  eyes;  and  they  loved  the 
mastery  that  the  eyes  spoke.  On  pay;  days 
they  were  ruffians. 

"They'd  go  to  hell  fer  him,"  Jack  Tarpy 
told  The  Old  Man  one  afternoon. 

The  Old  Man  growled.  "They'll  go  to  hell 
wit  him  some  day,  if  they  don't  mind,"  he  said. 
"Eiley  tells  me  they  tore  his  new  pianny  up  by 
the  roots  and  throwed  ut  through  the  dure  the 
other  night — and  he  was  wit  them." 

'  'Twas  one  av  them  canned  music  piannys," 
explained  The  Walker,  "and  'twould  not  play 
"The  Wearin'  av  the  Green.'  They  can  pull 
the  rock,  though.  They  do  more  than  the  two 
other  shifts  put  together." 

During  that  winter  Tom  came  to  a  belief  in 
hard  men  and  giant  powder.  Handling  them 
both,  coming  in  contact  with  them  daily,  he 
looked  upon  their  sort  of  strength  as  all  there 
was  of  might. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  fell  with  yuletide  softness 
upon  that  portion  of  Snowslide  across  the  can 
yon  from  the  boarding  camp,  the  little  space 
occupied  by  the  cottages,  where  the  families  of 
The  Old  Man  and  some  of  the  more  responsible 
mechanics  lived.  Here  there  was  talk  of  the 
season,  happiness  of  anticipation  and  mystery 
of  hidden  presents. 

In  "B"  bunk-house,  Christmas  Eve  was  a 
little  more  than  three  weeks  ahead  of  one  pay 
day  and  one  week  behind  the  next.  It  was  a 
quiet  night  and  cold.  The  men  were  in  their 
bunks  or  round  the  heater  stove,  "driving  tun 
nel,"  and  if  any  of  them  thought  of  the  date, 
they  spoke  of  it  in  rough  jest,  as  being  the 
easiest  way  to  pass  a  subject  not  belonging  to 
their  world.  The  growl  of  their  heavy  voices 
went  through  the  door  into  the  foreman's  office, 
where  Tom  sat. 

He  did  not  hear  them;  He  was  going  over  his 
time  book.  His  thick  fingers  were  busy  with 

151 


152  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

a  stub  pencil.  Now  he  raised  it  to  wet  it  be 
tween  his  lips;  then  went  on  writing  awkardly, 
breathing  heavily  with  the  excess  of  mental 
effort,  scowling  into  the  book.  It  was  a  large 
room;  its  floor  was  bare.  On  the  board  walls 
hung  half  a  dozen  pictures  from  a  sporting 
paper,  portraits  of  prizefighters,  crouching, 
with  their  gloved  fists  upraised  before  them, 
and  of  full-limbed  women,  clad  in  tights ;  they 
were  on  pink  paper.  There  was  a  photograph 
of  two  men  standing  side  by  side,  a  table  be 
tween  them,  on  the  table  a  bottle  and  glasses ; 
the  two  men  held  cigars  in  their  mouths.  Some 
previous  occupant  had  left  it;  dust  covered  it, 
and  it  hung  askew.  In  the  corner  was  a  bed 
stead,  made  from  undressed  lumber ;  the  blank 
ets  lay  in  a  knot  upon  it;  the  pillow  hung 
limply,  half  over  the  side.  Under  the  bed 
showed  a  corner  of  the  wooden  chest,  where  Tom 
still  kept  his  father's  hat  and  coat.  There  were 
two  chairs;  the  back  of  one  was  broken;  Tom 
sat  on  the  other,  before  the  pigeon-holed  desk, 
made  from  two  goods  boxes.  On  the  walls,  his 
oilskins  and  squam  hat  Lung  from  nails.  He 
was  shirt-sleeved,  in  his  stockinged  feet.  His 
hair  was  in  uncombed  riot.  Occasionally  as  he 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  153 

labored  over  the  time  book  he  ran  his  left  hand 
through  it. 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door.  "Come  in !" 
he  cried  and  turned  to  face  the  man.  It  was 
The  Cartender.  Tom  swore  in  astonishment; 
The  Cartender  was  dressed  up.  He  wore  a 
round  rimmed  hat  of  black  felt,  flat  crowned, 
stiff  as  it  had  come  from  the  bandbox,  un 
dented.  It  was  tilted  back  from  his  forehead, 
that  one  carefully  combed  lock  of  hair  might 
show.  His  clothes  were  black;  the  sack  coat 
showed  deep  creases  from  long  packing  in  a 
trunk.  He  wore  a  glistening  celluloid  collar 
and  a  pattern-tied  four-in-hand  of  lilac  tint 
thrust  itself  outward  beneath  his  bronzed 
throat;  the  strap  had  slipped  up  over  the  collar 
in  the  rear.  His  square-toed  shoes  glistened 
with  polish.  His  big  brown  hands  hung 
straight  down  as  though  they  were  trying  to 
escape  the  relentless  pursuit  of  a  pair  of  cel 
luloid  cuffs.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  all  his 
teeth  showing  in  a  self-conscious  smile. 
"Merry  Christmas!"  he  said. 

Tom  swore  again.     "That's  so,"  he  said. 
"How  did  ye  raymimber?" 

The  Cartender  came  in  and  seated  himself 


154?          THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

with  some  care  upon  the  edge  of  a  broken  chair. 
"Morans  is  to  have  a  party,"  said  he,  "I  was 
told  to  give  ye  a  bid." 

"Soho,"  said  Tom,  "that's  it?"  He  scanned 
The  Cartender  criticaUy.  "That's  the  raison," 
he  continued. 

The  Cartender  grinned.  "How'd  you  like 
'em?"  he  demanded  aggressively. 

"Ye're  hot  shtuff,"  said  Tom.  "A  dude,  ye 
are.  Best  be  diggin'  out  befure  some  of  the 
byes  gets  a  luk  at  ye.  Have  a  drink?"  He 
reached  beneath  his  desk  and  brought  out  a 
quart  bottle.  The  Cartender  shook  his  head. 

"I've  cut  ut  out,"  said  he,  "I'm  tendin'  to 
business  now.  Murphy's  goin'  over  to  the 
other  portal  New  Years  an'  I'm  to  be  motor- 


man." 


"Motorman!  Ye'll  ditch  the  thrrain  first 
trip!"  Tom's  face  relaxed.  "How'd  ye  do 
ut?" 

"I've  been  larnin'  all  winter,"  said  The  Car- 
tender,  "gettin'  what  I  could  from  Murphy 
an'  takin'  correspondence  school  avenin's.  'Tis 
a  fine  chanst  I  have  at  Moran's." 

"Morans  must  have  a  hot  dump  to  let  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  155 

likes  of  ye  and  Murphy  board  there,"  said  Tom 
irrelevantly. 

"Ye  shud  see  ut  wance,"  cried  The  Car- 
tender.  "Grub!  Man,  ye  never  get  the  like 
of  ut  in  that  there  hash  foundry" — he  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  cook-house — "and  'tis  like 
comin'  home  of  a  night.  The  Old  Woman  lets 
us  have  the  parlor;  and  we  get  to  see  the  others 
on  the  hill.  There's  two  girls  lives  over  there 
now  besides  Ryan's  Nora.  Man,  uts  civilized! 
Ye  shud  see  the  room  I  have;  It's  nate  as  a 
pin."  He  looked  around  him  comprehen 
sively,  "Ye  could  bring  a  gang  of  them  muck 
ers  in  here  wit  their  number  two  shovels  and 
do  this  hole  no  harm,"  he  said. 

"So,"  said  Tom.  "  'Tis  the  girls." 
"The  girls  nothin',"  said  The  Cartender, 
"they  don't  trouble  me.  I'm  too  busy  wit  the 
electrical  engineerin'  course  to  bother  me  head 
wit  girls.  Some  day  I'll  be  drawin'  me  easy 
salary  while  ye're  poundin'  tarriers  on  the  backs 
or  runnin'  a  slugger  again  in  the  headin*.  But 
'tis  good  to  see  them;  and  that's  what  I  come 
f er.  There's  to  be  a  few  friends  there  to-night 
f  er  Christmas  eve.  Ryan's  Old  Woman  will  be 


156          THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

over  and  Nora  and  one  or  two  others.     Come 


on." 


Tom  flushed.  "I'm  not  made  fer  yer  high 
society,"  he  growled.  "I'm  no  saft-talkin' 
dude.  Go  get  some  av  thim  engineers;  'tis 
thim  ye  want." 

"Come  on!"  The  Cartender  insisted,  "none 
of  them  girls  is  goin'  to  bite  ye.  Why  shud 
ye  stick  in  this  hole  when  there's  the  chanst  fer 
a  good  time  and  dacent  folk  to  talk  wit?" 

Tom  frowned  heavily.     "Not  me,"  he  said. 

"But,"  The  Cartender  was  beginning- -he 
had  secured  the  privilege  of  inviting  Tom  by 
asking  Mrs.  Moran  and  he  held  it  too  dear  to 
give  up  easily — "But,  man,  ye — ." 

Tom  rose.  "Listen  here,"  he  said  sternly. 
"Raymimber  the  night  I  wore  me  father's  hat 
to  the  depot,  knowin'  no  betther?  There  was 
some  av  yer  fine  folk  there  that  night  and  they 
laughed  in  me  face  because  I  was  too  grane 
fer  thim.  Raymimber  the  night  I  tuk  that 
umbrelly  to  Ryan's  house?  And  who  was  ut 
at  the  dure,  slammed  ut  in  me  face?  Answer 
me  that!  Go  there!  I'll  see  thim  in  hell 
first!" 

"They  meant  no  harm,"  said  The  Cartender, 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  157 

"that  night.  It  was  The  Old  Woman.  She 
was  sore  at  Ryan,  not  you.  I  got  the  straight 
of  ut  some  time  ago." 

Tom  silenced  him  with  a  gesture.  "Well," 
The  Cartender  rose,  "I  wisht  ye  wud  come." 
He  looked  about  him  at  the  room,  reeking  of 
disorder,  uncouth  like  the  men  of  the  tunnel. 
"Ye  shud  see  where  I  live,"  he  said. 

"  'Tis  alright,"  said  Tom,  "alright  fer  ye 
but  not  fer  me.  I'm  glad  ye've  quit  the  camp. 
'Tis  good  to  be  wit  women  folk  nearby,  and  the 
larnin'  is  a  fine  thing.  I  wisht  I  had  more  av 
ut.  Luk  at  that."  He  held  the  time  book 
before  The  Cartender.  "Chicken  thracks,  but 
'tis  all  that's  naded,  and  I  have  no  time  fer 
more.  The  min  kape  me  busy;  thim  an'  the 
rock.  I  don't  know  which  is  worst.  But  I 
can  handle  thim  both;  dhrrive  the  wan  an'  pull 
the  other.  And  that's  phwat  I'm  here  fer, 
phwat  I  like.  I  know  me  place;  'tis  not  wit 
yer  fine  folk  on  the  hill." 

"I  wisht  ye  wud  come,"  repeated  The  Car- 
tender.  "Annyhow,  some  day  ye  will.  Merry; 
Christmas!"  He  departed  walking  stiffly  in 
his  square-toed,  polished  shoes,  the  strap  of  the 
lilac  tie  high  on  the  back  of  his  celluloid  collar. 


158          THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

iTom  sat  alone  over  the  time  book.  After  an 
hour  he  went  to  the  outside  door.  It  was  snow 
ing  heavily.  He  shook  his  head.  "Half  an 
hour  lost  in  the  marnin',"  he  muttered,  "help- 
in'  the  outside  gang  shovel  things  out."  He 
went  back  to  the  room. 

Before  he  turned  out  the  light  he  looked 
about  him — at  the  rough,  unfinished  walls  with 
the  gaudy  pictures  of  the  women  and  the  prize 
fighters,  the  floor  with  dirt  heaped  in  the  cor 
ners,  the  riot  of  disorder,  the  muddy  oilskins 
hanging  from  nails.  He  thought  of  what 
The  Cartender  had  said  of  his  room.  "Nate 
as  a  pin,"  he  muttered.  He  remembered  what 
that  meant,  snowy  linen  and  a  floor  that  was 
immaculate.  The  memory  took  him  far  back. 

And  then  he  reached  beneath  his  rough  bed 
and  brought  forth  the  chest.  He  opened  it 
and  he  took  out  the  coat  with  the  two  narrow 
tails  and  the  row  of  large  buttons.  He  held 
it  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  for  a  moment  grop 
ing  with  the  other  hand  for  the  hat.  He  found 
it  and  he  brushed  his  cheek  against  the  high 
crown.  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  could 
smell  the  peat  smoke.  He  replaced  them  both 
and  turned  out  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CHRISTMAS  morning  saw  the  contour  of  the 
whole  place  changed.  It  had  snowed  all  night, 
and  the  wind,  sighing  up  the  canyon,  had 
drifted  heaps  where  paths  had  been.  Going 
to  breakfast  the  shift  waded  to  their  waists. 
On  the  blacksmith  shop  platform  Tom  com 
manded  them  to  fall  to  work  with  the  outside 
gangs  where  speedy  clearance  of  the  way  was 
demanded.  He  took  thirty  of  them  to  the 
dump  and  set  them  to  uncovering  the  main 
artery  of  travel  by  the  timber  sheds. 

They  were  strung  out  in  a  long  line;  their 
black  oilskins  in  startling  relief  against  the 
white  snow.  It  was  sport  for  them,  this  brief 
half  hour  in  the  open;  this  handling  of  feath 
ery  flakes.  Tossing  the  snow  from  their 
shovels  they  shouted  laughter.  They  capered 
roughly  in  the  drifts  and  threw  great  handf uls 
down  one  another's  necks  or  wrestled  trying 
to  wash  one  another's  faces,  like  schoolboys. 

159 


160          THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

iTheir  voices  boomed  among  the  muffling  flakes 
as  they;  indulged  in  the  rude  horse-play.  Tom 
stood  at  the  rear  of  the  line  watching  them. 
And  suddenly  their  laughter  died  and  they 
were  silent. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  line  Nora  Ryan  was 
standing  in  the  pathway  facing  them.  She 
was  standing  still,  puzzled;  and  the  drill  run 
ner  at  the  head  of  the  line  was  standing  with 
his  shovel  thrust  into  the  snow  beside  him, 
puzzled,  as  herself.  She  had  waded  this  far, 
fighting  her  way  through  the  soft  snow,  en 
joying  it.  Rounding  a  corner  she  had  come 
upon  this  place — on  one  side  the  timber  shed, 
on  the  other  a  ten-foot  drift;  between  (a  two- 
foot  interval  at  most)  the  path,  filled  now  by 
the  men.  There  was  no  space  for  her  to  pass 
them. 

She  faced  the  drill  runner — it  was  Big 
Jerry  relegated  again  to  toil  among  the  slug 
gers — and  she  saw  the  long  line  of  giants  be 
hind  him,  staring  at  them.  Her  cheeks  grew 
redder.  Jerry  broke  the  silence  under  the  spell 
of  an  inspiration,  "Merry  Christmas  to  ye," 
he  said. 

She  laughed  happily,  "Merry  Christmas!" 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  161 

she  replied.  "I  'don't  see  how  I'm  going  to 
get  through." 

Jerry  scratched  his  cropped  head  tilting  his 
squam  hat  forward.  He  had  memories  of  the 
day  when  her  mother  had  sweated  between  the 
boarding-house  stove  and  the  long  table  where 
he  and  other  crop-haired  giants  ate.  It  seemed 
like  only  yesterday,  when  he  had  seen  Ryan 
wheeling  the  baby  carriage  on  a  Sunday  after 
noon.  "Ah  yes,"  he  said,  "to  get  by.  Ye 
were  afther  goin'  to  the  commissary?"  She 
nodded;  he  looked  back  over  the  line. 

From  his  place  Tom  watched  these  two 
facing  each  other  and  the  others  staring  at 
them.  Usually  quick  in  an  emergency  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  solve  the  dilemma,  and  he  was  still 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  when  he  saw  Big 
Jerry  begin  to  act.  The  giant  was  stretching 
out  his  arms;  he  lifted  the  girl  as  though  she 
were  a  feather;  then  passed  her  to  the  man  be 
hind.  And  this  man  passed  her  to  the  next. 
Tom  watched  them,  lifting  her  gently,  man 
to  man,  across  the  interval  toward  him.  He 
saw  her  coming  closer  and  he  frowned  uneasily 
and  then  she  arrived. 

He  took  her  from  the  last  man.    He  was 


162  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

waist  deep  in  snow.  She  lay  in  his  arms, 
briefly,  a  light  burden.  He  felt  the  softness 
of  her,  the  quick,  half -startled  breathing;  it 
came  against  his  cheek  with  a  brush  of  auburn 
hair.  It  had  a  strange  effect  upon  him.  It 
made  everthing  else  go  from  him  and  he  did 
not  really  know  that  he  was  wading  heavily 
the  few  feet  that  separated  them  from  the 
timber  shed  platform;  that  he  was  setting  her 
down  upon  the  planking.  He  only  felt  the 
softness  of  her,  the  presence  of  her  close  to 
him — the  sacred  presence  of  a  young  girl.  A 
wave  of  diffidence  surged  over  him.  Then, 
through  it,  came  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
smiling  down  upon  him  from  where  she  stood, 
thanking  him.  He  raised  his  big  hand  to  his 
squam  hat.  It  lingered  there  and  he  removed 
the  hat  a  little  clumsily.  She  smiled  again 
brightly. 

"Merry  Christmas!"  she  cried. 

He  smiled  back,  holding  his  squam  hat  in 
his  hand,  "Merry  Christmas  to  ye,  Miss,"  he 
answered  gravely  and  she  departed. 

The  memory  of  that  incident  used  to  bother 
Tom.  Often,  when  he  was  alone  in  his  rough 
room  or  standing  by  himself  in  the  roaring 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  163 

heading  watching  the  sluggers,  he  thought  of 
it.  Sometimes  he  coupled  it  with  what  he  had 
said  the  night  before,  talking  to  The  Car- 
tender,  "I'll  see  thim  in  hell."  [And  then  he 
grew  hot  with  shame.  Sometimes  it  brought  a 
little  wistfulness. 

'But  the  wistfulness  did  not  endure  for  long. 
It  was  like  the  memories  when  occasionally  he 
opened  his  wooden  chest  and  touched  the  old 
coat  and  the  hat;  memories  of  another  world 
than  that  in  which  he  lived,  a  gentler,  softer 
world,  with  soft  hands  and  faces  alight  with 
love. 

He  lingered  briefly  over  these  things.  His 
world  was  hard;  and  the  hands  that  strove 
against  its  ringing  rock  were  gnarled  and 
rough.  It  was  a  world  of  mighty  muscles  and 
reckless  deeds.  Living  in  it  he  loved  it. 

His  life  was  full  during  the  months  that  fol 
lowed,  months  that  stretched  on  into  another 
year.  It  was  full  of  action.  He  drove  his 
hard-faced  men  and  driving  them  grew  harder. 
Sternness  came  upon  him.  But  there  was  one 
thing  that  had  stopped  growing,  the  respon 
sibility.  It  had  developed  for  all  the  calls 
there  were  upon  it. 


164  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

He  drove  the  men.  But  he  lived  their  life. 
He  ate  in  the  bare-walled  dining  hall.  He 
slept  in  his  rough  room.  He  captained  the  as 
sault  upon  the  heading's  breast  in  the  rever 
berating  tunnel,  where  they  beat  the  living  rock 
with  steel  and  tore  it  with  dynamite.  And  off 
the  work  sometimes  he  played  as  the  men 
played.  He  caroused  and  he  fought  those  who 
crossed  him.  Always  he  was  on  hand  for  duty 
when  morning  dawned  after  paynight.  But 
there  was  no  gentleness  to  temper  his  actions — 
His  world  was  hard. 


CHARTER  XVII 

ON  matters  of  railroad  policy  The  Doctor 
was  the  oracle  of  Snowslide.  In  his  day  he  had 
tried  out  as  candidates  and  had  passed  to 
friendship  many  men  who  had,  since  the  ordeal, 
risen  to  places  of  importance.  Occasionally 
one  of  them,  sidetracking  his  private  car  or 
alighting  from  the  steps  of  a  Pullman,  stopped 
off  at  Snowslide  to  pay  a  call  at  the  post- 
office.  As  a  consequence  those  who  gossipped 
with  The  Doctor  got  the  latest  news  from  the 
inside,  news  of  changes  in  the  engineering  de 
partment,  of  new  rolling  stock,  regrades,  pro 
jected  steel  bridges,  and  of  the  president's  im 
pending  visit. 

The  tunnel  was  the  president's  pet  project 
and,  although  it  had  been  in  process  of  con 
struction  for  three  years  now,  he  had  never 
inspected  it.  He  was  a  peculiar  type,  a  relic 
of  a  disappearing  class — the  master  who  per 
sonally  supervises  his  men.  He  had  never 
been  a  stock  manipulator  but  had  built  his  road 

165 


166  THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN 

by  helping  develop  the  country  through  which 
it  passed — until  it  had  become  a  transcontinen 
tal  line  with  steamship  connections  at  both  ends 
and  had  begun  to  absorb  other  systems.  No 
task  in  commercial  upbuilding  was  too  large 
for  him,  no  detail  in  any  wise  relating  to  the 
work  too  small.  Wherever  men  talked  of  the 
railroad,  in  great  cities'  roaring  hearts,  on 
prairie  wheatfields  wide  beneath  the  sun,  on 
the  tops  of  swaying  box  cars  cinder  swept, 
they  spoke  in  the  same  breath  of  him,  praising 
or  cursing. 

Sooner  or  later  he  would  visit  the  tunnel; 
would  look  it  over  with  his  sharp,  black  eyes, 
then  depart  and  he  would  send  back  the  word 
that  would  bring  dismay  or  joy.  When  was 
he  going  to  come?  The  Old  Man  often  asked 
The  Doctor  that  question  and  The  Doctor  only 
shook  his  head.  Until,  one  night  when  the 
two  of  them  were  sitting  at  the  table  in  the 
little  back  parlor  with  the  bottle  of  Scotch 
whiskey  and  the  glasses  between  them,  the  sta 
tion  agent  brought  a  telegram. 

The  Doctor  read  it  swiftly,  "I  have  news," 
he  said,  "Uncle  Jimmy  is  to  be  with  us  in  the 
morning." 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  167 

Ryan  bounded  from  his  chair.  "What's 
that?"  he  shouted. 

"It's  true,"  said  The  Doctor.  "He  stole  a 
march  to  Spokane  on  the  Overland  and  he's 
commandeered  the  division  superintendent's 
private  car."  He  held  the  yellow  slip  toward 
Ryan,  but  the  latter  was  making  toward  the 
door. 

That  night  an  extra  gang  worked  straight 
ening  things  outside  the  portal  and  lights 
burned  late  in  the  engineer's  quarters.  When 
the  president  swung  from  the  steps  of  his 
special  and  hurried  to  "D"  quarters,  he  found 
Ryan  there  to  meet  him.  The  two  of  them 
spent  more  than  an  hour  looking  at  the 
concrete  plant  and  the  power  house;  then  they 
went  inside.  By  that  time  a  party  was  hang 
ing  at  their  heels. 

There  was  Weed,  the  resident  engineer, 
high-collared,  clean-shaven,  wearing  high 
laced  boots.  With  him  walked  two  men  from 
the  private  car,  stenographers  by  calling. 
They,  too*  wore  high  collars  and  their  faces 
were  white  with  the  pallor  that  comes  from 
indoor  work.  They  talked  with  Weed  about 
the  city,  telling  him  of  cotillions  and  card  par- 


168  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

ties;  tKey  commented  audibly  on  the  things 
they  saw,  staring  at  the  men  whom  they  re 
garded  as  hoboes.  In  front  of  them — between 
them  and  the  two  leaders — walked  the  pres 
ident's  son.  He  was  a  young  man,  in  his  thir 
ties.  His  eyes  were  dark  like  his  father's  but 
they  lacked  the  lines  of  keenness  about  the 
older  man's;  and  they  were  large,  the  eyes  of 
a  student.  He  had  wiped  engines  in  a  round 
house  after  his  graduation  from  college;  and 
had  gone  from  that  into  the  machine  shops. 
He  was  still  learning,  studying  the  road,  ac 
quiring  knowledge  of  details  which  would  fit 
him  for  carrying  on  his  father's  work.  He 
listened  to  the  president  and  Ryan,  looking 
carefully  at  the  things  about  him,  saying  noth 
ing,  paying  no  heed  to  the  chatter  of  the  trio 
behind  him. 

When  the  party  arrived  at  the  heading,  the 
muckheap  there  was  all  but  gone.  Before 
them  the  four  columns  loomed.  On  each 
column  two  thundering  machines ;  at  each  ma 
chine,  the  runner,  big-bodied,  his  hard  face 
calm,  intent  upon  the  work.  iAmong  the 
plunging  chucks,  leaping  between  them, 
crouching  as  they  toiled,  the  helpers,  their 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  169 

faces  spattered  with  grit,  blackened  by  oil, 
gleaming  through  the  fog  of  the  exhausts. 
Behind  all  these  stood  Tom. 

He  was  watching  the  work.  In  the  roaring 
rock-bound  chamber  he  stood,  his  hands  folded 
behind  his  back,  his  broad  shoulders  bending  a 
little  forward,  motionless  like  a  great  black 
statue. 

Ryan  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He  turned 
and  saw  the  bearded  president  whose  name 
was  synonym  for  power,  whom  he  knew  as 
master  of  them  all.  He  had  heard  of  the  im 
pending  visit  and  at  once  he  knew  this  was 
the  man.  His  gray  eyes  were  keen  in  scrutiny. 
The  black  eyes  met  them,  hard,  shrewd,  with 
lines  about  their  corners.  The  two  looked 
steadily  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  Ryan 
bent  over  and  shouted  in  Tom's  ear,  "Where 
are  ye?" 

"On  the  fourteen-foot;  we'll  shoot  in  the 
half  hour,"  he  shouted  back. 

His  eyes  went  over  the  group  as  they  stood 
watching: — the  president,  the  man  who  had 
made  the  road;  his  strong,  bearded  face  was 
lined  with  energy  and  planning.  Eeside  him, 
Ryan,  legs  apart,  head  back,  now  waving  his 


170  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

hand  to  point,  now  bending  to  shout  into  his 
neighbor's  ear;  sure  of  himself,  a  master  too. 
The  younger  man  with  the  pointed  beard, 
studying  what  was  there,  making  no  move 
ment,  silent,  observant. 

Tom  felt  proud  as  he  looked.  He  felt 
pride  in  The  Old  Man  standing  thus  beside 
this  other  who  was  mighty;  and  he  felt  proud 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  his  shift  which  they  had 
come  in  to  see.  It  was  the  pride  of  a  com 
mander  whose  good  troops  are  undergoing  in 
spection  during  action.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
went  to  the  stenographers. 

One  of  them  was  staring  at  him.  He  was 
a  thin-faced  man.  In  this  artificial  light  his 
white  face  seemed  even  paler  than  it  was.  He 
was  puffing  a  thick,  Turkish  cigarette.  He 
was  staring  at  Tom  as  though  Tom  were  some 
strange  animal — the  stare  of  believed  superi 
ority  that  has  no  understanding. 

The  odor  of  the  cigarette  came  to  Tom's  nos 
trils  and  it  revolted  him.  He  saw  the  look, 
the  thin  body,  the  high,  white  collar,  the  cheeks 
that  showed  anemia.  His  anger  rose  within 
him. 

It  was  not  the  man.    He  was  a  little  thing. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  171 

Even  his  stare  by  itself,  would  have  made  Tom 
smile.  It  was  something  bigger — the  man 
represented  an  institution.  And  toward  that 
institution  Tom  was  intolerant. 

He  had  no  knowledge  of  the  gentler  life 
that  others  led.  He  had  developed  in  this 
place  among  toilers  who  had  no  homes  save 
their  bunks,  who  made  their  huge  muscles  do 
mighty  things.  He  had  physical  superiority 
over  these  men;  and  he  had  mastered  them 
through  that  and  his  ability  to  drive.  He 
lived  in  action  and  believed  in  it.  And  there 
was  something  more,  something  that  had  come 
into  existence  generations  before  him  beside 
peat  fires — class  feeling.  It  was  deep  within 
him.  It  gave  the  intolerance  toward  those 
whom  he  believed  to  hold  themselves  above  him, 
those  whom  his  ignorance  pictured  to  him  as 
living  useless  lives. 

That  class  feeling  was  the  curse  of  his  kind. 
It  had  made  them  as  out  of  sympathy  with 
others  as  others  were  with  them.  It  had 
cursed  the  Coeur  d'Aleners,  making  them  kill 
and  maim  and  destroy  until  now  they  were 
fugitives  bearing  other  names  than  their  own. 
It  had  cursed  the  hard  rock  men,  making 


172  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

them  proud  of  their  roughness,  half  defiant 
in  a  swaggering  braggadocia,  keeping  them 
closer  to  the  rude. 

It  gripped  the  two  men  as  they  looked,  this 
feeling  of  class,  this  intolerance  made  bigger 
by  ignorance  of  each  other's  lives.  The  one 
saw  a  huge,  hard-faced  brute.  The  other  saw 
an  unhealthy  pallor,  a  high  collar  and  a  Turk 
ish  cigarette.  They  both  stared;  but  in  the 
eyes  of  the  bigger  man  was  a  strength  of  con 
tempt  that  made  the  other's  drop.  .Torn  spat 
and  turned  his  back. 

When  the  visitors  departed  he  turned  and 
looked  after  them.  The  Old  Man  and  the 
president  were  walking  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
shouting  into  each  other's  ears.  The  stenog 
raphers  and  Weed  were  hanging  close  to 
gether,  and  the  two  pale  men  from  the  offices 
were  gazing  curiously  at  the  men,  comprehend 
ing  nothing  of  what  they  saw.  Between  the 
two  parties,  walking  by  himself,  watching 
everything,  trying  to  understand  it  that  he 
might  be  better  able  some  day  to  handle  it  as  a 
master,  went  the  president's  son. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  was  a  matter  of  two  months  after  his  visit 
before  the  president  let  Snowslide  know  what 
he  thought  of  the  work.  This  time  The  Old 
Man  brought  the  news  to  The  Doctor.  They 
smiled  at  the  tidings  in  the  little  back  parlor, 
and  drank  solemnly  in  honor  of  the  event. 

"Two  tunnels,"  Ryan  repeated  for  the 
fourth  time.  "  'Twill  be  a  big  job." 

"The  biggest  tribute  they  could  have  paid 
you,"  said  The  Doctor  impressively.  "The 
largest  thing  the  road  has  ever  undertaken." 

"Soft  ground,  some  av  ut;  and  some  av  ut 
hard  rock,"  The  Old  Man  went  on.  "I  guess 
Uncle  Jimmy  was  suited  alright,  alright,  when 
he  made  his  little  call." 

The  Doctor  rubbed  his  white  hands.  "How 
soon  did  you  say  they  begin?"  he  asked. 

"Next  winter,"  said  Ryan.  "As  soon  as 
we're  done  here.  Do  ye  know,  there's  wan 
thing  botherin'  me  now  that  I  think  av  ut; 
where  am  I  to  get  my  superintendents?"  he 

173 


174  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

frowned  and  shook  his  head.  "Two  big  jobs 
and  me  to  oversee  them  both,  and  thirty  miles 
apart.  That  means  a  different  breed  than 
walkers  is  made  of.  A  walker,  ye  see,  ye  can 
watch,  and  kape  him  sober  if  need  be.  But 
when  ye  are  away,  maybe  f er  weeks  at  a  time, 
ye  need  somewan  ye  can  depend  on.  Tarpy 
is  not  fit  fer  ut;  he'd  be  on  a  drunk  in  two 
monts.  Mike  Moran  over  on  the  other  portal 
could  do  ut;  he's  a  mole  and  never  stays  out 
side  long  enough  to  get  into  trouble.  He 
might  do.  But  where's  the  other?" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  The  Doctor,  "a  young 
man  who  will  make  his  mark  some  day.  It's 
that  lad  Morton,  a  fine  lad." 

"Morton,  hell!"  said  The  Old  Man;  "ye  may 
think  so.  But  I  know  him  and  his  breed. 
'Tis  his  first  tunnel  job,  this,  and  already  he  is 
so  tough  he  has  a  name  fer  ut.  He's  like  all 
the  rest  of  them.  Only  the  whiskey  has  not 
got  him  yet.  But  get  him  on  another  job  and 
ye'll  see  him  blossom  out.  The  only  raison  he 
hasn't  jumped  this  job,  is  because  work  has 
been  slack  fer  two  years  back  an'  there's  no 
place  to  go.  He  fights  an'  he  drinks  an'  he 
has  no  regard  fer  man,  God  or  the  devil.  He 


THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN  175 

will  be  a  stiff  like  all  of  thim.  No  sir.  He'll 
get  his  shift  if  he  goes  wit  me,  and  he'll  get 
his  chance.  But  in  tree  monts  he'll  be  on  the 
road  wit  his  blankets  rolled  on  his  back.  I 
know  him.  What  I  am  talkin'  of  is  stiddy 
men — 'tis  them  I  want." 

"A  young  fellow  like  Morton,"  said  The 
Doctor,  "ought  to  get  married." 

"Married!"  exploded  Ryan.  "Who  is  the 
likes  of  him  to  marry;  Snowslide  Ann?"  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  "I  must  go  over  the  hill 
in  the  half  hour,"  he  said,  "the  chief  engineer 
is  there  from  St.  Paul.  I'll  have  to  see  Tarpy 
before  I  catch  that  freight." 

Emerging  from  the  door  he  failed  to  see  a 
short,  broad  figure  whip  into  Scotty  Riley's 
dance  hall.  Otherwise  he  would  have  gotten 
his  talk  with  Tarpy. 

The  Walker  had  seen  Ryan  just  in  time  to 
get  out  of  sight.  The  dance  hall  was  deserted. 
Behind  the  bar  the  proprietor  sat  back  in  an 
uptilted  chair  reading  a  day's  old  paper.  He 
rose  as  Tarpy  entered,  and  smiled  his  noncom 
mittal  smile.  "Have  a  drink?"  he  asked. 

The  Walker  shook  his  head;  he  was  looking 
upward  at  the  clock.  "That's  so,"  said  Rileyj 


176  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

suavely,  "I'd  forgotten  you're  on  the  wag 


on." 


Tarpy  did  not  answer;  his  eyes  were  still  on 
the  clock.  Its  long  hand  was  close  to  the  half  - 
past.  A  moment  later  he  lowered  his  eyes  and 
glanced  furtively  through  the  door.  "Now," 
he  said,  "I'll  take  ut— whiskey." 

Biley  reached  beneath  the  bar  and  brought 
out  the  bottle.  He  shoved  it  forward  and 
smiled  carefully  as  The  Walker  poured  the 
glass  to  the  brim.  Then  Tarpy  drank. 

At  "D"  quarters  The  Old  Man  found  Tom 
scanning  blue  prints  in  The  Walker's  office. 
"Where's  Tarpy?"  he  demanded.  Tom  shook 
his  head.  "I  saw  him  going  down  the  dump 
a  few  minutes  ago,"  he  said. 

"I  was  waitin'  agin  he  comes  back.  When 
we  come  out  this  marnin'  there  was  some  chan 
ces  of  the  timberin'  goin'  down  wit  the  next 
shot.  I  wanted  to  tell  him." 

"Funny  I  didn't  meet  him,"  mused  Ryan. 
"I  wonder  where  he  went."  He  took  out  his 
watch  and  looked  at  it  uneasily;  then  walked 
up  and  down  the  room.  All  at  once  a  thought 
came  over  him;  he  growled  a  savage  oath  and 
ran  to  the  calendar  that  hung  beside  The  Walk* 


THE   HARD    ROCK    MAN  177 

er's  desk.  He  scanned  it  an  instant  then 
straightened  his  back  and  turned  toward  Tom. 
His  face  was  grim.  "How  long  since  did  he 
go,  ye  say?"  he  asked. 

"A  matter  of  twinty  minutes,"  said  Tom. 

"It's  all  off,"  said  Ryan.  Tom  was  staring 
at  him.  He  struggled  with  his  feelings  a  mo 
ment;  then  gave  them  vent.  "Mr.  Tarpy," 
he  said  with  elaborate  sarcasm  in  his  pronun 
ciation,  "is  getting  dhrunk.  If  ye  will  remem 
ber,  'twas  two  years  ago  ye  and  Kennedy  had 
ut  out  in  Riley's — two  years  last  night.  In 
the  marnin'  Mr.  Tarpy  signed  the  pledge.  A 
year  from  then  he  signed  ut  again.  And 
twenty  minutes  ago  his  time  was  up.  By  this 
time  he  is  full  to  the  neck  of  Riley's  whiskey." 

He  resumed  his  pacing  to  and  fro.  Now 
and  then  he  swore  aloud.  He  wheeled  toward 
Tom.  "Bad  ground,  ye  said?" 

"Shaky  overhead,"  said  Tom,  "and  tight  in 
the  headin'." 

A  whistle  from  the  direction  of  the  depot 
reached  Ryan's  ears.  "That  freight,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "I  must  get  over  the  hill.  Now  listen 
here,  the  chief  engineer  is  comin' — perhaps  this 
afternoon.  Ye  will  take  charge.  And  see  to 


178  THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

lit  that  ye  get  things  in  good  order  if  there's 
anny  roof  comes  down.  I'll — ." 

A  nipper  boy  slouched  into  the  door, 
"Where's  The  Walker?"  he  demanded.  The 
Old  Man  jerked  his  thumb  toward  Tom, 
"Right  there,"  he  said.  "Sag  what  ye  have  to 
say,  an'  say  ut  quick." 

The  nipper  stared  a  moment,  then  grinned. 
"The  last  shot  blowed  down  ten  sets  of  tim 
bers,"  he  drawled,  "they  want  ye  inside." 

Ryan  strode  toward  the  door.  Holding  it 
open  he  turned  toward  Tom,  "Who's  shift  is 
this?"  he  asked. 

"Kennedy's,"  said  Tom. 

"Alright,"  said  Ryan.  "Ye  and  that  an 
archist  get  that  mess  cleared  up  agin  I  get  back 
or  I'll  fire  every  man  on  the  work."  He 
stamped  out.  "Drive  hell  out  o'  them,"  he 
shouted  over  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XIX  - 

THE  empty  muck  train  was  starting  into 
the  tunnel  as  Tom  reached  the  blacksmith  shop 
platform.  He  leaped  on  board  and  in  a  mo 
ment  he  was  being  rushed  through  the  black 
ness.  Through  the  roar  of  the  wheels  he 
heard  a  dull  boom  and  in  the  rush  of  air  upon 
his  face  he  felt  a  trembling  pulsation.  "The 
side  round,"  he  muttered;  "Half  the  ruff  is 
down  wit  ut  now,  'tis  like." 

"Damned  if  I  don't  think  'twas  the  whole 
mountain,"  a  drill  runner  called  to  him  as  the 
train  stopped  and  he  leaped  out  three  hundred 
feet  before  the  jumbo.  "The  rock  and  timbers 
is  all  over  the  place." 

"Where's  Kennedy?"  Tom  demanded. 
Someone  pointed  to  a  knot  of  the  Cceur 
d'Aleners  gathered  round  their  heading  fore 
man.  Kennedy  raised  his  bowed  head  as  Tom 
pushed  his  way  among  them.  "Sick  as  a  dog," 
he  said,  "the  smoke  is  somethin'  fierce.  Where's 
TarpyJ" 

179 


180  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

"Drunk,"  Tom  answered.  "I'm  in  charge; 
what's  down?" 

"Eight  or  ten  sets  of  timbers  and  God 
knows  how  much  rock  on  top  of  thim.  'Tis 
all  over  the  air  pipe  and  more  .f  allin'  every 
minute.  We're  afther  eatin'  a  bit  av  smoke 
tryin'  to  open  the  valves."  He  laughed  and 
jerked  his  thumb  behind  him.  Tom  saw, 
stretched  beside  the  plumb  posts,  three  shad 
owed  forms.  One  of  them  was  stirring,  moan 
ing.  Kennedy  clapped  him  on  the  back; 
"How's  that,  Old  Boy,"  he  cried,  "pretty  good 
fer  wan  thrip  in,  hey?" 

The  giants  about  him  spat  and  laughed. 
"The  ruff,"  said  one,  "is  drappin'  in  big 
chunks." 

"Come  on,  Kennedy,"  said  Tom.  Let's  go 
an  take  a  luk  at  ut.  You,  byes,  you  three, 
come  wit  us," 

Kennedy  walked  beside  him;  at  their  heels 
the  three  Cceur  d'Aleners.  Their  candle 
flames  cast  flickering  lights  upon  their  hard 
eyes,  and  shadows  crept  down  weirdly  over  their 
reckless  faces.  Tom  glanced  at  The  Dynami 
ter,  thinking  of  the  night  two  years  before  when 
they  had  fought.  It  seemed  as  though  they 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  181 

must  have  been  another  pair,  who  rained  blows 
on  each  other  while  the  crowd  yelled.  The 
two  years  had  brought  them  to  an  esteem  that 
was  more  than  half  liking. 

"So  Tarpy's  drunk?"  The  Dynamiter  was 
asking. 

"And  the  chief  engineer  due  Here  in  the  af- 
thernoon,"  said  Tom.  "  'Tis  up  to  us  to  clane 
this  mess,  Kennedy.  Can  we  do  ut?" 

The  Dynamiter  laughed  and  struck  him  on 
the  back  again.  "If  we  can't,  no  one  can,"  he 
cried. 

At  the  summit  of  the  bench  they  paused 
and  held  their  candles  aloft  to  peer  into  the 
darkness.  By  the  waving  light  they  saw  a 
heap  of  snarled  timbers  and  boulders  rising 
high  before  them,  mantled  by  powder  smoke. 
Above,  where  the  roof  had  been,  yawned  an 
abyss.  From  its  black  recesses  drops  of  water 
were  splashing  sluggishly  upon  the  wreckage. 

The  successive  blasts  had  shaken  down  thirty 
feet  of  timbering,  thick  beams,  four-inch 
planks,  and  cordwood  lagging.  As  this  sup 
port  had  given  way  the  rock — rotten  here  with 
slips  and  faults — had  crashed  down  upon  it, 
splintering  great  beams,  grinding  planks  to 


182  THE   HARD    HOCK   MAN 

matchwood.  The  whole  now  lay  in  an  indis 
criminate  pile.  Round  it  the  dynamite  smoke 
hung  in  a  thick,  blue  fog;  over  it,  in  the  yawn 
ing  hole  whence  it  had  come,  huge  fragments 
hung  uncertainly. 

As  they  stood  a  stone  fell  from  the  hole. 
[A!  shower  of  loose  particles  followed.  Then 
there  was  silence  save  for  the  dripping  of  the 
water.  "Lots  more  where  that  come  from," 
laughed  Kennedy. 

The  powder  smoke  came  to  their  nostrils; 
the  air  was  thick  with  its  acrid  fumes.  The 
poisonous  gases  set  the  blood  to  pounding 
through  their  veins. 

"We'll  clear  the  air  line,"  Tom's  voice 
boomed  in  the  emptiness  and  went  whispering 
on  upward  into  the  mysterious  recesses  where 
the  roof  had  been. 

"Come  on,  byes,"  said  Kennedy. 

The  pipe  that  carried  the  air  lay  along  the 
side  of  the  tunnel.  It  was  covered  deep  with 
broken  rock  and  timbering.  They  clambered 
to  it  and  set  to  work  to  remove  the  debris  from 
the  nipples — the  valves  where  the  hose  were 
usually  coupled.  They  toiled,  crouching  on 
their  hands  and  knees,  wrestling  with  great 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  183 

rocks  and  timbers,  dragging  them  away  slowly. 
As  they  strove  the  powder  gases  entered  their 
lungs.  Dizziness  came  over  them;  their  heads 
seemed  swelling  to  bursting  and  they  felt  their 
blood  pounding  against  the  walls  of  every  vein 
like  hammer  strokes.  Their  surcharged  eyes 
ached  as  though  they  would  burst  from  the 
sockets,  and  became  blind.  They  gasped;  at 
times  they  reeled  and  almost  fell.  Fragments 
of  the  rock  crashed  down  about  them. 

"Fall,  damn  ye,  fall,"  growled  Kennedy. 
"Where  the  hell's  a  monkey  wrench,  some- 
wan.  I've  a  nipple  in  me  fingers." 

Tom  passed  him  a  wrench.  The  Dynamiter 
flattened  himself  upon  his  stomach,  cursing 
as  he  fumbled  beneath  him,  growling  impre 
cations  upon  the  mountain,  daring  it  to  come 
down  and  overwhelm  him.  "I  have  ut  now!" 
he  cried.  A  thin,  sibilant  shriek  followed  his 
words;  it  grew  louder.  A  cool  breath  smote 
Tom's  cheek.  The  Dynamiter  groped  again; 
the  whistle  of  another  valve  joined  the  first. 
"Alright,"  he  cried,  and  straightened  his  body. 
He  smiled  into  Tom's  face. 

"  'Tis  done,"  said  Kennedy.  In  the  yellow 
candle  light  Tom  saw  his  smile.  An  avalanche 


184  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

of  rock  descended  upon  them.  The  smiling 
face  vanished  in  black  darkness  and  Tom  fell, 
struck  down  by  one  of  the  boulders. 

When  his  senses  recovered,  the  nearest  of 
the  Cceur  d'Aleners  was  still  running  toward 
him.  And  he  began  to  remember  with  strange 
swiftness  the  separate  things  that  had  hap 
pened;  Kennedy's  face  smiling  into  his;  there 
were  sweat  drops  on  the  forehead,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  as  though  some  of  the  ugly  lines  had 
gone;  then  the  obliteration  of  the  light;  the 
heavy  blow  in  the  darkness. 

He  strove  to  rise.  The  Coeur  d'Alener  was 
beside  him  now,  holding  high  his  candle,  peer 
ing  forward.  Sharp  pains  racked  Tom's 
body.  He  groaned  as  he  raised  himself 
weakly  to  his  knees. 

"Where's  Kennedy?"  he  asked. 

The  other  two  were  there  now,  bending  over 
something  a  few  feet  away,  struggling  to  lift 
a  weight.  As  he  spoke,  they  rolled  away  a 
huge  rock.  And  then  he  saw  Kennedy. 

"Dead,"  he  heard  them  saying.  He  crawled 
closer,  trailing  one  arm  limp  beside  him. 
The  three  Coeur  d'Aleners  were  kneeling,  hold 
ing  their  candles  above  the  crushed  body. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  185 

Tom  bent  over  it  and  he  saw  the  waxen  face 
stir;  the  lips  moved.  He  bent  closer,  though 
the  effort  wrung  his  body  with  pain.  The  lips 
moved  again.  It  was  a  bare  whisper.  It 
reached  his  ear.  A  woman's  name.  And  then 
the  lips  were  still.  The  Dynamiter  died. 

Finally  a  Coeur  d'Alener  spoke.  "What 
was  ut?"  he  asked.  His  voice  was  quiet — these 
men  had  worshipped  Kennedy.  Tom  shook 
his  head. 

"Had  he  anny  folk?"  he  asked. 

"None,"  they  told  him,  one  after  the  other. 

"We  must  get  him  out,"  said  Tom.  His 
responsibility  came  back  to  him  and  with  it  a 
determination  that  took  the  place  of  strength. 
"You,  lads;  take  him  down.  Tell  the  others 
to  bring  in  the  lights  and  call  the  shift." 

He  looked  after  them  as  they  departed 
staggering  with  the  body  of  their  leader,  pick 
ing  their  way  among  the  broken  rocks,  speak 
ing  in  low  tones.  Then  he  sat  alone  thinking. 
His  arm  throbbed  and  his  body  was  full  of 
stabbing  hurts;  they  came  to  him  now  in  a 
strange,  subconscious  way,  like  punctuations 
to  his  thoughts.  His  mind  was  with  Kennedy. 

This  rough  man,  this  dynamiter,  fugitive 


186          THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN 

from  justice,  gigantic,  savage-faced;  wHo  had 
sneered  at  him,  whom  he  had  fought,  who  had 
led  his  followers  recklessly,  who  was  striving 
beside  him  a  few  moments  ago.  The  man  had 
smiled  into  his  face;  and  he  had  died  whisper 
ing  a  woman's  name.  Somewhere  back  in  the 
past,  back  in  the  years  that  lay  behind  his 
wanderings,  she  had  lived.  And,  dying,  he 
had  harked  back  to  her. 

The  shift  came  with  the  lights.  He  set  his 
teeth  while  they  helped  him  bind  his  arm  in  a 
rude  sling.  Then  he  sank  down  on  a  rock, 
and  he  sat  there  directing  them  while  they 
cleared  away  the  ruin.  Pain  swept  over  his 
being  in  great  waves;  his  head  swam  and  a 
thin,  cold  sweat  filmed  his  face.  About  him 
men  panted,  tearing  away  loose  rock  and  tim 
bers,  setting  new  timbers  overhead.  They 
swarmed  the  place;  the  chamber  rang  with  the 
blows  of  their  sledges;  and  through  it  all — 
from  the  nipples  that  Kennedy  had  freed — 
came  the  sharp,  shrill  whistle  of  the  air.  The 
chasm  in  the  roof  dripped  water ;  now  and  then 
a  shower  of  stones  fell  among  the  toilers. 

He  gave  them  orders,  in  a  voice  that  did  not 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  187 

seem  to  be  his  own.  At  times,  in  the  stress 
of  sudden  emergency,  he  came  back  to  himself 
and  he  shouted;  and  they  leaped  in  response. 
Then  his  mind  went  back,  dully — over  and 
over  the  catastrophe,  the  rush  of  death  close 
beside  him,  the  mutter  of  the  stilling  lips. 

He  had  not  eaten  nor  drunk  since  morning. 
The  pain  was  growing  to  a  strange  lethargy, 
a  cold  numbness,  that  seemed  to  creep  upward 
from  his  waist.  He  fought  against  it,  to  hold 
himself  together. 

Slowly  the  heap  of  wreckage  vanished; 
slowly  the  timbers  spanned  the  chasm  over 
head.  Afternoon  wore  on  to  evening  and 
evening  toward  midnight.  He  sat  upon  the 
rock,  directing  them.  When  they  had  the 
gangway  laid  and  the  first  barrow  loads  of 
muck  had  started  for  the  jumbo,  someone 
looked  around  and  saw  him  lying  in  a  huddle 
across  the  boulder. 

The  Old  Man,  coming  inward — cheerful  be 
cause  the  chief  engineer  had  gone  to  bed  for 
the  night — met  four  of  the  runners,  bearing 
Tom.  He  glanced  sharply  at  their  burden, 
saw  who  it  was,  and  stopped. 


188          THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

"His  head  went  back  on  him,"  one  of  the 
bearers  explained.  "He  rowled  over,  goin'  to 
sleep  like  when  they  done  the  timber  in'." 

"All  stove  in*,"  they  answered,  when  he  de 
manded  diagnosis.  "A  rock  smashed  down  on 
him  in  the  marnin'." 

Ryan  did  not  fume,  but  came  to  pur 
pose  at  once,  and  to  foresight.  "Take  him  to 
Moran's,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  ahead  an'  see  that 
they  get  ready  fer  him.  No  hospital  fer  his; 
I  want  him  to  be  about  some  time  before  next 
fall." 


CHAPTER  XX 

SEVERAL  days  later,  Tom  awoke  from  the 
dreamless  slumber  that  follows  fever.  He  was 
lying  between  smooth  linen  sheets;  they  ca 
ressed  him  with  a  soft,  cool  touch.  It 
was  very  soothing.  The  morning  sunlight 
streamed  across  his  bed  and  cascaded  from  the 
white  coverlet  to  the  matting  on  the  floor,  a 
clean,  sweet  radiance  from  out  of  doors.  He 
turned  his  head  to  see  it  better  and  the  pillow 
slip  brushed  his  cheek,  stiff  with  growth  of 
beard.  He  was  weary;  weakness  enwrapped 
him;  he  did  not  care  to  raise  his  head  or  think. 
Somewhere  in  the  open  an  insect  buzzed  dron 
ingly;  a  clock  ticked  in  the  silence.  He 
drowsed  contentedly. 

He  awoke  again.  It  was  a  little  room,  with 
a  board  ceiling.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
light-tinted  paper,  figured  with  small,  stiff 
clusters  of  flowers.  On  the  paper  someone  had 
pinned  colored  pictures,  cut  from  the  covers 
of  weekly  magazines ;  women's  faces,  the  faces 

189 


190  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

of  young  women,  gentle-featured.  He  stared 
at  them  for  some  time;  growing  more  widely 
conscious,  he  raised  his  head.  It  fell  back 
limply  on  his  pillow  and  he  groaned.  The  stab 
of  pain  took  him  swiftly  back  from  here;  he 
was  in  the  tunnel  where  the  rock  fell  round 
him.  A  hand  upon  his  forehead  roused  him, 
and  he  opened  his  eyes  into  Nora  Ryan's. 

"It's  cleared  away,"  he  said.  "Is  ut 
cleared?'" 

"Yes,"  she  told  him;  "everything  is  alright. 
You  must  lie  still." 

"And  Kennedy?"  His  voice  was  weak, 
high-pitched,  fretful,  like  a  child's. 

"Go  to  sleep,"  she  said.  "There,  there,  go 
to  sleep."  She  talked  as  though  he  were  a  rest 
less  baby. 

He  tossed  his  limbs  impatiently;  then  sub 
sided  weakly,  moving  his  tongue  stiffly  between 
his  dry  lips.  "I  want  a  drink,"  he  said,  com- 
plainingly. 

She  brought  a  glass  of  water  and  slipped 
a  little  hand  behind  his  head.  While  he  drank, 
her  face  was  close  to  his.  Her  auburn  hair 
gleamed,  where  it  caught  a  ray  of  the  morning 
sunshine,  and  her  brown  eyes,  full  of  the  gen- 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  191 

tleness  that  comes  with  caring  for  another — 
the  solicitude  of  sympathetic  nursing — re 
garded  him  softly.  He  accepted  everything 
— the  feeling  in  the  eyes,  the  little  sustaining 
hand — unquestioningly,  as  though  he  were  a 
child.  When  she  bade  him  again  to  go  to 
sleep,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

Later  on,  he  opened  them  slowly  and  he 
saw  Mrs.  Moran  beside  his  bed.  Her  worn 
face  was  relaxed  and  she  smiled  at  him.  He 
gazed  curiously  at  her,  and  he  half -frowned, 
uneasily.  She  laid  her  finger  on  her  lips  and 
stole  from  the  room.  He  heard  her  voice 
through  the  door;  then  the  rustle  of  skirts  and 
a  quick,  light  step.  Nora  stood  before  him; 
he  sighed  contentedly.  She  fed  him  some  hot 
broth,  holding  the  spoon  to  his  mouth  with  one 
hand,  while  she  raised  his  head  with  the  other. 
Her  cheeks  were  pink  and  white — the  blood 
came  and  went  quickly  over  them,  beneath  the 
transparent  skin — and  her  red  lips  curved  with 
sympathy.  When  she  had  done,  he  lay  back, 
wearied,  thinking  slowly.  Finally : 

"Kennedy  is  dead,"  he  said. 

"You  mustn't  talk,  the  doctor  says,"  she  told 
him. 


192  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

He  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side  on  the 
pillow.  "Kennedy  is  dead,"  he  repeated.  "I 
raymimber."  Then  he  lay  silent  again,  think 
ing;  and  he  went  to  sleep. 

When  the  company  doctor  came  and 
changed  the  bandages  upon  the  broken  rib  and 
shoulder,  he  looked  cheerfully  at  the  patient. 
"You'll  do,"  he  said;  "they  couldn't  kill  you 
with  an  axe."  Departing,  he  talked  briefly 
with  Mrs.  Moran.  "All  he  needs  is  what 
you're  giving  him,"  he  told  her,  "quiet  and 
rest.  To-morrow  you  can  let  him  talk." 

That  night  Tom  slept  and  wakened  fitfully. 
He  felt  the  dull  pains  throb  to  sharpness,  then 
subside  and  weigh  down  upon  him  like  a  load 
that  would  not  leave.  In  the  long,  intermina 
ble  darkness,  his  mind  went  uneasily  over  and 
over  the  thing  that  had  happened — the  black 
hole,  the  clouds  of  mantling  smoke  that  made 
his  blood  pound  through  his  head,  the  water 
dropping  sluggishly,  the  Cceur  d'Aleners 
crouching  round  him,  fighting  to  clear  the  air 
line,  Kennedy  beside  him;  outstretched  prone; 
rising  to  his  feet;  The  Dynamiter's  smile;  the 
crashing  rock;  the  waxen  face;  the  lips  moving 
slowly,  whispering  a  woman's  name;  then  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  193 

long  struggle  to  endure  while  men  toiled  round 
him. 

In  the  morning  he  regarded  the  streaming 
sunshine  on  the  coverlet  and  the  gentle  faces 
of  the  women  on  the  primly  papered  walls. 
When  Nora  brought  his  breakfast,  he  looked 
dumb  thankfulness  into  her  eyes.  Her 
presence  took  the  load  away.  She  sponged 
his  hot  face  and  then  he  supped  the  broth 
from  the  spoon  which  she  was  holding  to  his 
lips. 

"You're  feeling  better,"  she  told  him.  Her 
voice  was  pitched  low,  as  women  modulate 
their  voices  for  the  sick  room.  To  his  ears 
it  was  wonderfully  soft  and  her  face,  before 
him  now,  with  the  sunshine  on  her  auburn  hair, 
was  comforting.  It  soothed.  Voice  and  face 
were  in  accord  with  the  other  things  about  him, 
things  that  were  out  of  his  world  of  harsh 
noises  and  heavy  strife.  He  gazed  upon  her 
slowly. 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "Was  I  hurt  bad?" 

1  The  doctor  says  it  is  your  shoulder  and  a 
rib,"  she  told  him.  "They're  broken.  But 
'twas  the  fever  was  the  danger.  You  hurt 
yourself  staying  inside  there." 


194.  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

He  shifted  his  head  to  one  side  and  the  pain 
came  back.  "Kennedy  is  dead,"  he  said. 

She  nodded.  "Where  is  he?"  He  asked 
the  question  as  though  it  were  troubling  him. 

"They  buried  him,"  she  answered  softly. 
His  look  was  still  unsatisfied.  "On  the  hill," 
she  added. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said;  "on  the  hill." 

That  was  it;  on  the  hillside,  under  the  black 
hemlocks.  The  little  graveyard  with  the 
wooden  headboards,  where  none  ever  visited. 
He  shook  his  head  slowly.  "It  can't  be 
helped,"  he  said  finally.  He  was  thinking  of 
The  Dynamiter's  stilling  lips,  whispering  their 
last  word  in  the  shadows.  He  sighed  wearily. 
"No,  it  can't  be  helped." 

She  regarded  him,  half  puzzled. 

"He  might  av  had  some  folk,"  he  explained. 
"He  must  av,  somewhere." 

That  afternoon  The  Old  Man  strode  into 
the  little  room  and  filled  it  with  his  presence. 
He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  booted,  big- 
bodied,  his  diamond  flashing  from  his  tie,  his 
hat  back  on  his  head.  And  yet  there  was  in 
him  now  something  of  uncertainty,  a  little  awk 
wardness  of  bodily  poise,  an  uneasiness  of  po- 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  195 

sition.  And  his  eyes  went  questioningly  to 
Nora,  as  though  for  orders.  She  held  her 
finger  to  her  lips.  "Don't  talk  too  much," 
she  bade  him,  and  he  nodded  mutely  as  she 
left. 

He  turned  to  Tom  a  trifle  diffidently,  as 
though  Tom's  helplessness  had  raised  a  barrier 
which  he  found  it  hard  to  cross.  "Well,"  he 
said  finally,  "ye're  comin'  through  alright." 
Tom  smiled  weakly. 

"In  ten  days,"  Ryan  continued,  seating  him 
self,  "the  doctor  says  ye  c'n  be  about  a  bit." 
He  fidgeted  as  Tom  made  no  answer  and 
turned  his  chair  so  that  he  strode  it.  "Is  there 
annythin'  ye  want?"  he  asked  abruptly;  "anny- 
thin'  I  c'n  do  fer  ye?"  Tom  shook  his  head. 
"Some  cigars?"  The  Old  Man  went  on. 
"Say,"  he  lifted  his  voice  a  little  under  an  in 
spiration,  "I've  got  some  good  whiskey  at  the 
house;  I  c'n  bring  ye  some." 

"Indeed,  ye  can  not,"  Nora's  voice  came 
evenly  from  the  doorway.  Ryan  grinned  a 
little  sheepishly.  "Niwer  mind,"  he  said. 
"Ye  must  let  the  women  boss  ye  now  fer  a 
while.  Pretty  soon  ye'll  be  up,  an'  yer  own 
masther.  Lave  me  know  if  there's  annythin' 


196  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

ye  want."  He  looked  at  Tom  and  frowned 
uncertainly;  then  he  went  away. 

"It  seems  like  he's  lost  his  grip,"  he  told 
Mrs.  Moran,  on  the  steps.  "He  don't  care 
nothin'.  Niwer  a  word  from  him  about  the 
work." 

"The  work,  indade!"  she  cried.  "Lave  the 
bye  get  well  first." 

In  the  days  that  followed,  this  listlessness 
hung.  Tom  never  asked  about  the  tunnel. 
Even  when  The  Cartender  came  to  see  him  in 
the  evenings,  sitting  beside  the  bed  for  hours 
at  a  time,  Tom  had  few  words  for  him.  Some 
thing  had  changed.  The  Cartender  noted  it, 
with  eyes  that  were  full  of  vague  trouble. 
And  when  he  talked  with  Mrs.  Moran  he  shook 
his  head  anxiously. 

"He's  lost  his  grip,  I  tell  ye,"  The  Old  Man 
repeated  a  week  later,  on  the  doorstep.  "An' 
him  the  wan  man  I  was  dependin'  on  fer 
walker  this  summer.  He  does  not  care  a — " 
He  checked  himself  suddenly  and  glanced  fur 
tively  toward  Nora,  who  had  come  up  behind 
Mrs.  Moran,  and  he  went  down  the  path  to  do 
his  swearing,  where  she  could  not  hear. 

In  the  little  room,  Tom  was  lying  silent, 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  197 

staring  upward  with  unseeing  eyes.  He  often 
lay  this  way  for  hours,  burdened  by  the  thing 
that  pressed  upon  him  now.  In  the  night, 
when  darkness  brought  back  the  pain  and  long, 
silent  hours  stretched  on  and  on  interminably, 
hours  when  there  was  neither  sight  nor  sound, 
this  thing  weighed  heaviest,  like  a  bad  dream 
that  would  not  cease.  The  Dynamiter,  this 
violent  man  of  violent  life,  homeless ;  the  death 
that  had  come  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  a 
mountain,  which  reared  its  head  among  a  wil 
derness  of  peaks.  The  rock  that  he  had  bat 
tered  had  smitten  him  down.  And  his  mind 
had  flitted  far  back;  while  his  face  became 
waxen,  he  had  gone  to  other  things — to  where 
a  woman  had  been.  That  was  a  lonely 
tragedy. 

Sometimes  it  frightened  Tom.  Lying  here 
helpless  he  had  lost  something.  The  utter  dis 
regard,  the  splendid  wantonness  that  had  been 
his  while  strength  flowed  through  him;  it  was 
gone  now. 

There  was  a  change.  His  mind  had  stopped 
suddenly.  It  had  stopped — in  the  access  of 
bodily  effort,  at  the  uttermost  point  of  physical 
striving — among  crashing  rock  and  sweating 


198          THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

men.  And  then  he  had  awakened  here — with 
the  memory  of  the  tragedy — among  women, 
dependent  upon  them,  faced  by  the  sweet  ne 
cessities  of  things  which  he  had  long  forgotten. 

With  the  awakening,  his  viewpoint  had  be 
gun  to  change.  The  beliefs  which  he  had 
cherished,  the  self -nursed,  swaggering  beliefs, 
had  gone.  It  was  as  though,  in  the  midst  of 
the  physical,  a  mighty  hand  had  taken  him  by 
the  shoulder,  twisting  him  to  a  sudden  halt, 
facing  him  with  a  lesson — a  two-fold  lesson, 
death  and  gentle  women.  It  had  been  a 
mighty  shock,  and  the  lesson  was  sinking  in. 

"You're  stronger  to-day,"  Nora  told  him, 
when  she  had  given  him  a  drink  of  water  one 
afternoon;  "I'll  read  to  you." 

"Thank  ye,"  he  said,  and  the  listlessness 
which  The  Old  Man  had  noticed  was  not  in 
his  voice  now.  When  she  came  beside  him, 
his  mind  was  always  easier;  her  presence  drove 
away  the  black  obsession  that  had  weighed 
upon  him.  His  eyes  hung  upon  her;  there 
was  a  new  light  in  their  grayness. 

She  read  to  him  from  a  paper-covered  book. 
It  was  a  cheap  romance ;  its  hero  was  splendid ; 
its  heroine  spoke  in  stilted  platitudes;  a  story 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  199 

of  an  imaginative  world,  whither  her  fancy  had 
often  wandered,  getting  away  from  the  pine 
cottages  and  the  littered  canyon  bed,  to  dwell 
among  ideals.  It  was  replete  with  artificiality, 
full  of  long  words  and  quotations  from  the 
French.  She  mispronounced  the  words,  and 
stumbled  haltingly  through  the  italicized  quo 
tations.  But  her  voice  was  low  and  full  of 
sympathy,  and  as  she  read  her  face  lighted  up 
with  feeling.  He  kept  his  eyes  upon  her  and 
he  was  very  happy. 

The  next  afternoon  he  asked  her  to  read 
again;  and  after  that  she  sat  beside  him  daily, 
with  the  open  book  before  her.  And  watching 
her,  he  got  things  that  were  not  in  the  pages- 
watching  her  transparent  cheeks,  with  the  color 
coming  and  going,  her  long-lashed  eyes,  her 
hair,  where  the  sunlight  often  lingered. 

The  knitting  of  the  bones  progressed,  now. 
He  sat  up  in  bed,  and  when  The  Cartender 
came  in  the  evenings,  they  talked  together  un 
til  late.  The  Old  Man  dropped  in  afternoons, 
and  once  "The  Doctor"  called,  with  a  handful 
of  cigars.  "My  word!"  said  he.  "You  look 
fit  to  be  about  already."  And  Tom  laughed 
when  he  told  a  joke.  After  that  Ryan  called 


200  THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN 

to  tell  him  of  the  progress ;  they  would  be  ready 
for  the  holing  in  a  few  months  now.  Tom's 
interest  was  coming  back. 

He  began  to  be  uneasy  in  his  bed,  to  long  to 
move  about.  He  grew  a  little  irritable  with 
Mrs.  Moran.  Normality  was  returning  to 
him.  But  always  there  remained  with  him — 
like  a  heritage  from  those  black  hours — an  in 
delible  impression  that  made  him  graver.  It 
was  like  a  steadying  weight.  And  there  was 
something  more.  It  always  came  to  him  while 
he  listened  to  Nora  reading  or  watched  her 
moving  about  the  room,  something  softer  than 
anything  that  he  had  ever  known.  He  did  not 
understand  the  extent  of  this  himself  until  the 
first  day  he  walked. 

"You'll  not  need  me  any  more,"  she  laughed, 
as  he  staggered  slowly  to  the  porch,  where  Mrs. 
Moran  had  fixed  the  blankets  on  his  chair.  He 
settled  himself  slowly  within  the  wrappings 
and  looked  up  at  her. 

"Not  need  ye?"  he  asked.  Then  he  realized, 
and  he  flushed.  He  saw  the  red  sweep  over  her 
cheeks  as  she  answered. 

"In  a  few  days,  now,"  she  said  lightly, 
"you'll  be  about." 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  201 

"That's  so,"  he  said  slowly,  and  then,  "I  will 
be  gone."  He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as 
he  had  often  looked  at  her  while  he  lay  helpless. 
She  dropped  her  eyes.  They  were  silent  for 
some  time,  and  he  felt  a  sudden  wave  of  diffi 
dence  sweeping  over  him.  "Ye  have  been 
good  to  me,"  he  said  finally.  "How  did  ye 
come  to  do  ut?"  The  question  had  never  oc 
curred  to  him  before. 

"Why,  anyone  would  do  that,"  she  answered 
quickly;  "any  woman." 

"Would  they?"  he  asked;  then,  "Ah,  yis,  so 
they  would," 

She  did  not  answer,  and  some  way  he  felt 
that  she  did  not  like  what  he  had  said.  Then, 
"Ye  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  he  repeated 
slowly. 

The  next  day  he  walked  to  the  porch  alone, 
and  it  was  Mrs.  Moran  helped  him  into  the 
chair.  He  did  not  ask  for  Nora,  but  he  was 
uneasy,  and  he  glanced  continually  toward  the 
Ryan  cottage.  He  had  been  there  more  than 
a  half  hour  before  he  saw  her  emerge  from  the 
door  and  come  along  the  path.  Somehow  her 
brief  visit  was  altogether  different  than  their 
talks  had  been.  She  read  to  him  for  a  while, 


202  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

and  even  then  he  felt  the  change.  And  the 
two  of  them  spoke  as  though  his  coming  of 
strength  had  lessened  their  acquaintance,  tak 
ing  away  a  hundred  little  half -intimacies ;  as 
though  a  common  ground  had  gone  from  be 
neath  their  feet. 

That  evening  he  asked  The  Cartender  more 
eagerly  about  the  tunnel,  and  he  called  some 
what  feebly  to  The  Old  Man,  from  the  porch 
the  next  afternoon,  to  see  what  job  was  open 
for  him. 

"You  are  well,  now,"  Nora  said,  when  she 
came  over.  It  was  to  see  Mrs.  Moran  she  said 
that  she  had  come.  She  regarded  him  with  a 
bit  of  something  in  her  demeanor  that  was 
neither  defiance  nor  sauciness,  but  savored  a 
little  of  both. 

"I  go  away  "day  afther  tomorro',"  he  said. 
"I've  got  to  get  to  work." 

"I  heard,"  she  said,  "you  are  to  be  walker." 

He  had  been  very  proud  when  The  Old  Man 
had  given  the  position  to  him,  and  yet  "D" 
quarters  did  not  seem  now  to  hold  the  fascina 
tion  that  He  had  expected.  Two  days  later, 
when  he  bade  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Moran — she 
was  cheerful  in  laughing  at  his  thanks — he 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  203 

ended  awkwardly  and  asked  for  Nora.  And 
when  Nora  came  from  the  kitchen,  he  found 
that  his  manner  was,  in  spite  of  himself,  very 
stiff.  He  shook  hands  with  her  and  then  he 
limped  slowly  down  the  path  toward  the  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  Walker's  office  was  a  bare-floored  room, 
with  plain  board  walls  and  scanty  furniture. 
Odds  and  ends  from  the  work  littered  it.  A 
pair  of  muddy  jack  screws  lay  in  one  corner; 
on  the  pine  table  were  an  engineer's  steel  tape, 
a  roll  of  blue  prints,  some  engine  brasses,  a 
bundle  of  candles  and  a  briar  pipe;  on  the 
walls,  muddy  oilskins  and  squam  hats,  the  flam 
boyant  calendar  of  a  powder  company  and  a 
cross-section  diagram  of  the  tunnel.  It  was  a 
small  room;  it  reeked  with  suggestions  of  the 
work.  It  was  the  nerve-center  of  the  entire 
job;  the  headquarters. 

Tom  sat  at  the  desk  here  one  evening,  nearly 
two  months  after  he  had  left  Moran's.  His 
broad  shoulders  were  bent  forward;  he  was 
poring  over  the  open  pages  of  a  thick  book,  the 
catalogue  of  a  Seattle  mail  order  house.  His 
brown  hair  was  carefully  combed,  parted  in  a 
straight  line;  his  neck  was  uneasy  in  the  bind- 

204 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  205 

ing  embrace  of  a  linen  collar;  his  back  and  big 
limbs  seemed  ready  to  burst  from  the  clothes 
that  covered  them — a  blue  serge  suit,  still  smell 
ing  of  the  clothier's  shelves.  His  feet  were  in 
yellow  tan  shoes,  and  as  he  bent  over  the  cata 
logue,  he  occasionally  shifted  them  uneasily,  as 
though  they  hurt  him. 

A  timber  boss  came  in  from  supper,  to  talk 
about  the  lagging  which  the  woodcutters  were 
bringing  from  the  lower  canyon.  He  saw  the 
clothes  and  grinned.  Looking  upward  from 
the  pages  he  was  scanning,  Tom  caught  the 
grin  and  frowned  uneasily.  He  turned  the 
book  face  downward  a  little  hurriedly,  hiding 
what  he  had  been  looking  at. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  man  had  departed, 
he  laid  down  the  catalogue  again,  at  the  sound 
of  a  footstep  behind  him.  It  was  Jerry  Mor- 
ley,  in  charge  now  of  the  evening  shift.  They 
were  going  to  slioot;  should  they  use  the  old 
powder?  They  argued  briefly  over  the  nature 
of  the  rock  and  the  speed  of  the  dynamite. 
When  they  had  settled  the  matter,  Jerry  looked 
Tom  over  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  acquaint 
ance.  "  'Tis  a  hot  layout  ye  have,"  he  ven 
tured. 


206  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Tom  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  "Annythin' 
wrang  wit  ut?"  he  demanded. 

But  Jerry  was  slow  to  understand  that  he 
had  made  a  faux  pas  and  proceeded  to  another. 
He  reached  over  Tom's  shoulder  and  picked 
up  the  catalogue. 

"Going  to  buy  a  gun?"  he  asked. 

"Lay  that  down,"  said  Tom.  His  face  was 
red. 

"Cranky  as  hell,"  Jerry  muttered,  as  he  left 
the  place.  "Something's  on  his  mind  I  do  be 
thinkin'." 

Tom  was  looking  at  his  watch,  scowling. 
"Half  an  hour  to  mail  time  yet,"  he  said  aloud. 
He  opened  the  catalogue. 

"What  have  ye  there?"  he  whirled,  his  big 
face  lowering  irritably.  It  was  The  Old  Man, 
standing  wide-footed  in  the  doorway,  his  eyes 
upon  the  suit.  He,  too,  was  frowning.  "I'll 
have  ye  know,"  he  said,  "that  I'll  not  stand  fer 
ut."  * 

"Fer  phwat?"  demanded  Tom. 

"No  sooner  do  ye  get  settled  down  to  work," 
Ryan  went  on,  ignoring  his  question,  "than 
ye're  raggin'  up  fer  downtown.  I  want  ye  to 
onderstand  right  now,  that  what  raisin'  hell  is 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN  207 

done,  I'll  do  meself.  Humph!  About  to  do 
the  Tarpy  act  already!  Annywan  would 
think,  to  see  ye,  that  ye  was  goin'  out  into 
sassiety  wit  Weed." 

"I'm  goin'  to  shtay  on  the  job,  if  that's  what 
ye  mane,"  said  Tom.  "Me  clothes  is  me  own 
affair." 

The  Old  Man  came  on  in,  half  mollified. 
There  was  nothing  that  he  liked  so  well,  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  as  club-like  repartee 
and  a  certain  measure  of  defiance.  "Wear 
what  ye  plase,"  he  growled.  "Only  when  a 
man  does  that  it  luks  like  Seattle  or  a  drunk 
to  me."  He  digressed  at  once  to  the  tunnel. 
"The  engineers  found  center  just  now,"  he 
said ;  "right  in  the  middle  of  the  breast.  Ye're 
doin'  fine.  Kape  ut  up  and  ye'll  do  the  holin' 
afther  all,  instead  of  the  other  side  gettin'  ut." 
He  lit  a  cigar  and  gave  Tom  one;  they  smoked 
together  in  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"I'm  off  fer  Seattle  in  the  marnin',"  Ryan 
said  finally.  "I  come  over  to  tell  ye.  I'll  be 
gone  a  week  or  ten  days,  to  see  about  gettin' 
ready  fer  the  new  job." 

As  The  Old  Man  left,  Tom  looked  again  at 
his  watch.  He  snapped  it  shut  and  fidgeted 


208          JTHE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

in  his  chair ;  time  was  going  slowly.  Mechan 
ically,  he  turned  to  his  desk  and  reopened  the 
catalogue.  He  stared  at  the  page,  then  said 
aloud,  uncertainly:  "I  wonder  if  'twill  be  al 
right?" 

His  eyes  were  intent  upon  an  illustration. 
It  was  the  picture  of  a  toilet  set — the  manifold 
small  articles  which  women  strew  upon  dresser 
tops,  and  use  to  adorn  themselves.  The 
printed  matter  upon  the  page  described  it 
minutely,  going  over  each  small  piece,  extolling 
its  merits.  Tom  had  read  the  description 
slowly  many  times.  It  sounded  right. 

It  was  an  expensive  affair.  To  his  mind, 
it  represented  daintiness  and  refinement.  He 
had  picked  upon  it  for  this  reason.  And  the 
choice  had  not  been  made  suddenly.  It  had 
taken  days  and  had  demanded  help  for  its  mak 
ing.  For  in  the  beginning,  he  had  been  at  a 
loss,  puzzled  between  this  and  other  things, 
adrift  in  a  strange  world,  where  women  lived. 
At  length  he  had  confided  in  The  Doctor. 
Half  diffidently,  he  had  explained  what  he 
wanted  to  do.  And  The  Doctor  had  turned 
him  to  this  decision.  "The  most  tasteful  thing 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN  209 

you  could  get,  Mr.  Morton,"  he  had  said,  im 
pressively. 

That  had  settled  it.  Tom  had  ordered  the 
toilet  set.  He  had  sent  a  good  part  of  last 
month's  pay  check  to  the  Seattle  house.  And 
to-night  the  package  was  due  at  The  Doctor's, 
where  there  was,  besides  the  post-office,  an  ex 
press  office.  It  would  come  by  this  evening's 
train.  He  would  take  it  to  Nora  Ryan. 

Since  he  had  limped  away  from  Mrs. 
Moran's,  he  had  not  seen  Nora,  save  casually. 
Once  he  had  called  on  the  hill,  ^intending  to 
visit  her;  but  he  had  gone  instead  to  the  Moran 
cottage.  A  constraint  had  overwhelmed  him 
at  the  last  moment,  when  he  stood  on  the  rail 
road  track  with  the  two  paths  up  the  hill  lying 
before  him.  That  diffidence  had  kept  him  at 
"D"  quarters  twice  afterward.  It  had  made 
him  imagine  a  hundred  barriers  existing  be 
tween  him  and  this  girl  who  had  nursed  him;  it 
had  made  him  conjure  up  a  hundred  rebuffs 
which  might  come  to  him  if  he  presumed  to 
make  the  call.  He  had  been  tortured  between 
desire  and  this  feeling,  until  finally  he  had 
taken  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and  made  up  his  mind 


210  THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN 

to  do  this  thing — to  get  a  present  for  her  which 
would  show  his  gratitude;  to  take  it  to  the 
house  and  to  depart  at  once.  But,  in  spite  of 
the  last  part  of  the  resolution,  he  had,  when  he 
ordered  the  toilet  set,  sent  to  a  Seattle  clothing 
store  for  the  blue  serge  suit  and  the  yellow 
shoes,  the  white  shirt,  and  a  hat  like  The  Car- 
tender  had  worn  that  Christmas  Eve. 

He  took  the  hat  now  from  its  nail  and 
donned  it  carefully,  so  that  it  might  not  dis 
arrange  his  parted  hair.  The  whistle  of  the 
evening  train  was  sounding  on  the  last  leg  of 
the  switchback.  It  would  take  some  time  be 
tween  the  train's  arrival  and  the  sorting  of  the 
mail.  And  until  he  had  gotten  through  with 
this,  The  Doctor  would  not  be  at  liberty. 
Moreover,  Tom  wanted  to  wait  until  everyone 
had  left  the  post-office.  He  dallied  in  the  tim 
ber  sheds,  where  some  of  the  more  reckless  of 
the  men  grinned  at  his  new  attire.  He  showed 
no  sign  that  he  noticed  them,  but  it  bothered 
him.  He  felt  ill  at  ease,  and  he  gave  his  orders 
to  the  foreman  curtly. 

He  walked  slowly  away,  down  the  dump. 
The  outside  gang  were  at  work — the  night  shift 
— beside  the  track.  There  were  six  of  them 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

shoveling  the  muck  over  the  brink.  They  were 
short-bodied  men,  thick-chested,  and  the  eyes  of 
one  or  two  of  them  slanted  downward,  six 
Slavs.  As  he  approached,  they  bent  with  sud 
den  energy  to  their  toil,  swinging  their  shovels 
with  accelerated  speed,  throwing  the  muck  far 
from  them.  He  knew  that  the  low  word  had 
been  spoken,  the  warning  that  he  came.  It 
took  his  mind  back  three  years,  and  his  face 
softened  with  sympathy  for  the  eager,  big- 
boned  boy  that  he  had  been. 

He  was  walking  slowly,  with  his  hands  be 
hind  his  back.  He  recalled  that  other  soft 
evening,  when  his  heart  had  been  wrung  by 
homesickness  and  he  had  worn  his  father's  coat 
and  hat;  when  they  had  laughed  at  him;  Nora 
had  smiled  mirthfully  on  seeing  him.  He 
must  have  been  uncouth.  He  flushed  and  the 
constraint  came  over  him.  After  all,  he  was  a 
rough  man,  of  the  work;  and  she  might  smile 
now,  if  he  came  to  her  door.  But  he  had 
fought  that  battle  too  many  times  of  late  to  let 
the  feeling  endure. 

The  earth  beneath  his  feet  trembled  vaguely, 
a  faint  pulsation,  like  a  labored  breath  within 
its  depths.  He  knew  the  feeling;  they  had 


THE   HARD   ROCK   MAN 

shot  the  heading.  His  mind  went  to  the  rock- 
bound  chamber,  where  men  were  already  rush 
ing  in  among  the  hanging  nitro  gases;  where 
he  had  run  at  The  Gunner's  heels;  where  he. 
had  raced  with  Kennedy.  And  Kennedy  was 
dead,  buried  on  the  lonely  hillside.  He  raised 
his  head  slowly;  his  eyes  went  to  the  mountains, 
the  walling  slopes,  black-green  with  hemlock 
forests,  snow-patched  where  their  jagged  sum 
mits  cut  the  evening  sky.  A  star  glowed  soft 
above  them,  yellow  in  the  blue.  He  looked  at 
it  a  long  time,  feeling  vaguely  that  his  youth 
was  gone. 

Lights  were  glowing  on  the  dump  now. 
When  he  passed  the  row  of  flimsy  wooden 
buildings  of  the  town,  he  saw  their  interiors 
ablaze  with  the  glare  of  the  lamps.  The  sound 
of  many  voices  came  through  the  doors,  with 
it  the  staccatto  music  of  the  pianos,  the  shrill, 
mirthless  laughter  of  the  women,  the  clicking 
of  the  gamblers'  chips.  The  crowd  milled  on 
the  floors  like  bewildered  cattle.  He  saw 
among  the  moving  faces  many  that  he  knew. 
He  saw  Tarpy  bending  over  a  table  rolling 
the  dice  from  his  hard  hand,  his  scarred  face 
tense  with  eagerness;  then  suddenly  grown 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

black,  the  coarse  lips  writhing  to  curses.  He 
saw  The  Gunner  leaning  limp  against  the  wall; 
the  man  who  had  taught  him,  who  knew  more 
than  any  of  them  knew  about  the  rock  and  how 
to  break  it;  dissolving  now  into  stupidity  of 
intoxication.  Behind  the  bar  he  saw  Riley, 
smiling  craftily  as  he  cashed  a  check.  The 
things  went  past  his  vision  like  swift  pictures 
on  a  screen.  They  were  like  pictures  of  an 
other  world,  a  wrorld  that  he  had  known.  These 
men — he  looked  upon  them  from  a  perspective 
— he  had  envied  them;  he  had  looked  up  to 
them;  he  had  toiled  with  them  recklessly  and 
lived  with  them  wantonly;  he  had  mastered 
them.  Now  he  was  master  of  those  who  drove 
them,  maker  of  plans  for  those  who  directed 
them.  The  responsibility  for  their  work  was 
all  his.  He  knew  it  now,  he  felt  the  weight 
of  it,  a  potent  thing  that  made  his  actions  sure. 
He  had  known  it  for  some  time — since  his 
mind  had  been  so  much  away  from  the 
tunnel,  wandering  upon  the  hill.  He  hurried 
past  the  wide-open  doors  toward  The  Doctor's. 
The  Doctor  had  the  package  in  his  hand 
when  Tom  reached  the  counter.  He  was  look 
ing  at  the  new  clothes,  smiling  politely,  full 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

of  dignity.  "A  fine  fit,"  he  said,  "my  word, 
they  become  you  well." 

Tom's  smile  had  earnestness  of  inquiry. 
"Do  they  now?"  he  asked. 

"Indeed  they  do,"  said  The  Doctor.  "And 
now  the  package."  He  showed  Tom  where  to 
sign  his  name  and  when  this  had  been  done — 
none  too  quickly — Tom  took  the  package  in  his 
hands.  He  looked  at  its  red  labels  doubtfully. 

"Say  Doc,"  he  said,  "what  am  I  to  do  ?"  He 
pointed  at  the  wrappings,  "I  shuddn't  be 
packin'  ut  up  that  way  shud  I?" 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head.  "By  no 
means,"  said  he,  "bring  it  inside,  we'll  see  to 
that." 

In  the  privacy  of  the  little  sitting  room  they 
cut  the  cords  and  the  green  plush-covered  box 
was  disclosed.  It  lay  before  them.  "Stun 
ning!"  said  The  Doctor,  "That  is  ripping!" 

Tom  said  nothing.  He  was  looking  at  the 
green  plush-covered  box,  half  awed.  It  was 
a  splendid  thing,  of  another  world  than  his, 
dainty  and  at  once  magnificent.  He  touched 
it  with  the  tips  of  his  large  fingers  and  the 
catch  that  held  the  lid  sprang  open.  He  raised 
the  lid.  The  interior  was  lined  with  green  silk; 


THE    HARD    ROCK   MAN  215 

it  was  filled  with  things  which  he  did  not  know, 
which  he  never  seen  before,  silver  things  that 
gleamed,  glistening  cut  glass  bottles.  He 
stared  at  them.  Then  he  closed  the  cover, 
dusting  it  with  his  handkerchief  where  his  fin 
ger  ends  had  touched  it. 

He  looked  at  The  Doctor.  "  'Tis  the  goods 
alright,"  he  said  proudly. 

"The  tastiest  thing  you  could  have  gotten, 
Mr.  Morton,"  said  The  Doctor.  He  wrapped 
it  carefully  in  tissue  paper  and  narrow  silk 
ribbons.  "There  you  are,"  he  said  finally. 
"Have  a  drink?" 

But  Tom  was  on  his  way  to  the  door.  The 
Doctor  shook  his  head  and  smiled  after  him 
wisely. 

The  road  to  Ryan's  cottage  lay  across  the 
dump,  along  the  railroad  track  and  up  a  nar 
row,  winding  path.  It  was  not  what  one 
might  call  a  long  road,  nor  was  it  very  short. 
And  yet  to  Tom  it  seemed  very  long — until 
he  had  reached  the  path.  Then  it  seemed  to 
him  that  it  had  been  all  too  short.  He  saw  a 
bit  of  dust  on  his  coat  and  brushed  it  off  with 
his  handkerchief,  then  he  flicked  some  more 
dust  from  his  yellow  tan  shoes.  His  feet 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

dragged;  he  shut  his  teeth  and  climbed  the 
path.  He  was  holding  the  tissue  paper  pack 
age  in  the  crook  of  one  big  arm.  All  his  con 
straint  was  with  him  now.  His  tread  upon  the 
porch  seemed  to  shake  the  house.  And  when 
he  had  knocked  at  the  door  he  grew  suddenly 
cold  with  an  idea  that  Nora  might  not  be  at 
home.  She  answered  his  knock  while  he  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  thought. 

"Why,  good  evening,  Mr.  Morton,"  she 
said. 

He  thrust  the  package  toward  ,vher;  then 
stopped  the  movement  and  raised  his  free  hand 
to  the  new  hat.  "I  brought  this,"  he  was  say 
ing;  and  it  was  not  what  he  had  planned  to  tell 
her  at  all.  She  took  the  package  from  him  to 
relieve  him. 

"Come  in  and  sit  down,"  she  bade  him,  and 
his  plans  for  quick  departure  recurred  to  him 
after  he  had  somewhat  awkwardly  taken  one 
of  the  plush-covered  chairs.  He  was  here ;  he 
sat  uneasily  not  knowing  just  what  to  say, 
conscious  mainly  of  the  fact  that  his  yellow 
shoes  were  hurting  him,  shifting  his  feet  un 
easily. 


THE   HARD    ROCK   MAN 

"How  well  you're  looking,"  she  said,  "as  well 
as  if  you'd  never  been  hurt!" 

"Yis,"  he  said  vaguely.  "Yis,  I'm  well." 
He  looked  at  the  package,  lying  on  the  table, 
and  he  flushed;  then,  as  he  had  always  done  in 
difficulty,  he  plunged  in. 

"I  wanted  to  give  ye  something  a  present — 
because  ye  were  good  to  me — to  thank  ye  fer 
ut."  He  was  wondering  at  her  self-possession, 
feeling  lost  before  it. 

She  turned  to  the  package.  "I'd  like  to 
open  it;  may  I?"  she  asked. 

"Sure,"  he  said.  "Let's  do  ut  now."  He 
was  smiling  eagerly. 

When  she  had  exclaimed  aloud — a  little  en 
raptured  "oh" — and  had  followed  it  with  more 
exclamations,  he  felt  easy  in  his  mind.  After 
all  he  had  chosen  well.  It  was  a  relief.  She 
called  her  mother  and  he  rose,  flushing  again  to 
take  her  hand. 

"Such  a  pretty  color,"  Nora  was  saying. 

He  laughed.  "  'Tis  a  good  color,  me  own 
color,  grane." 

"Indade  yis,"  Mrs.  Ryan  smiled  at  him. 
"Ye  may  say  that,  a  good  color." 


218  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Then  he  found  that  he  was  talking  easily 
about  the  work  and  his  mended  bones,  talking 
to  the  two  of  them.  His  smarting  feet 
brought  him  back  to  himself  and  to  his  con 
straint;  he  moved  them  uneasily.  "I  must  be 
going,"  he  told  them. 

It  had  not  been  so  hard  after  all.  And  she 
had  not  laughed  at  him.  Indeed  it  had  been 
very  easy — and  very  pleasant.  He  went  be 
fore  her  to  the  door  feeling  a  little  too  big  for 
the  things  about  him.  On  the  porch  he  stood 
uncertainly,  his  hat  in  his  two  large  hands. 
"I'll  be  afther  sayin'  goodnight,  I  guess,"  he 
said. 

Mrs.  Ryan  came  and  stood  beside  Nora. 
"We'd  like  to  have  ye  come  again,  anny  avenin' 
when  'tis  convanient,"  said  she.  V 

He  looked  swiftly  toward  Nora's  eyes. 
They  repeated  the  invitation,  "Yes,  won't  you 
come?"  she  asked. 

"Indade,"  he  said  quickly,  "I  will  if  ye  don't 
mind." 

He  did  not  remember  the  things  among 
which  he  walked,  going  to  "D"  quarters;  but 
he  knew  that  he  walked  on  air. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IT  was  three  months  later  when  Jerry  Mor- 
ley's  shift,  returning  to  the  smoke-filled  head 
ing,  found  what  they  had  hoped  to  see — a  hole 
where  there  had  been  a  granite  wall,  a  ragged 
interval  that  met  the  eastern  bore. 

"  'Twas  fine,"  The  Old  Man  told  Tom  at 
"D"  quarters.  "The  engineers  was  right  to 
a  hair;  and  do  ye  know,  we've  holed  her  af- 
ther  nigh  onto  four  years  wit  less  throuble  an' 
less  men  killed  than  iver  I  see  in  anny  wan 
year's  work  before."  He  puffed  at  his  cigar, 
red-faced,  his  gray  eyes  gleaming.  "I  mis 
doubted  a  while  back,"  he  went,  on,  "but  what 
the  other  side  wud  do  the  thrick.  They  had 
all  the  best  of  ut,  until  ye  tuk  charge."  He 
stopped  suddenly,  pulling  himself  up.  That 
was  the  biggest  compliment  he  had  ever  paid. 
And  Tom  was  disconcertingly  silent. 

"  'Twas  good  luck  an'  good  min  did  ut  fer 
me,"  Tom  said  finally. 

219 


220  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

"And  now,"  said  Ryan,  "I'm  aff  again  fer 
Seattle  to-morrow.  'Tis  takin'  more  time  than 
I  looked  fer,  gettin'  ready  there.  I'll  be  away 
a  week  annyhow,  this  trip." 

He  had  been  absent  for  long  intervals  of 
late  and  this  was  the  first  talk  they  had  been 
able  to  get  together  for  some  time.  They 
made  the  best  of  it  discussing  details  of  the 
job's  winding  up. 

"By  that  time,"  Ryan  said  when  they  had 
done  with  the  last  of  these,  "I'll  be  ready  fer 
ye  down  below."  He  paused  and  looked  at 
Tom  half  frowning.  He  was  battling  with  an 
impulse;  and  prudence  finally  gained  the  vic 
tory.  "I  c'n  give  ye  a  place  bossin',"  he  said, 
"and  chances  are  ye  can  work  up  to  walker." 

Tom  thanked  him  absently.  The  Old  Man 
rose  to  go. 

"Set  down,"  said  Tom,  "if  ye've  a  minute 
ye  c'n  give  me."  His  face  was  a  little  graver 
than  usual;  it  looked  almost  drawn.  Ryan 
looked  at  it  curiously  as  he  took  the  chair. 
They  were  both  silent  for  a  moment.  "Well?" 
asked  The  Old  Man,  "what's  on  yer  mind?" 

"  'Tis  this,"  said  Tom  quietly.  "Ye've  been 
away  a  good  bit  av  late  and  I've  not  had  the 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

cHance  to  tell  ye  befure,  I'm  going  to  marry 
Nora." 

"You're  going  to  marry  Nora?"  Ryan 
leaped  from  his  chair.  His  face  became  deep 
crimson.  "Just  say  that  again,"  he  asked 
slowly. 

"To  marry  Nora,"  Tom  repeated  quietly. 
"She  said  the  word  a  week  ago."  He  raised 
his  hand  in  a  silencing  gesture  as  Ryan 
stamped  his  booted  foot.  "I  ask  yer  lave," 
he  went  on  steadily.  His  voice  was  even  but 
it  had  respect — he  was  of  a  sudden  realizing 
that  Ryan  was  an  older  man. 

"Ye  ask  my  lave,"  Ryan  repeated,  then 
words  came  to  him. 

"Blackguard  me  all  ye  like,"  said  Tom  when 
he  had  done.  "A  rough  man  I  have  been  and 
I  know  ut,  none  betther.  But  I  am  as  good 
as  ye,  and  I  have  done  what  was  my  right. 
'Twas  yer  wife  asked  me  to  the  house  herself." 

"My  wife,"  shouted  Ryan,  "I'll  see  about 
this."  He  blustered  wildly,  cursing,  threaten 
ing.  "I'll  see  me  wife  and  I'll  see  what  this 
is,"  he  said  finally.  "To  marry  Nora!" — he 
stamped  out  of  the  room. 

Tom  had  been  alone  for  an  hour  when  The 


222  THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Cartender  came  in.  "Ye  luk,"  said  he,  "as 
if  ye'd  lost  yer  best  friend.  What's  gone 
wrong  wit  ye?" 

"I've  rowed  wit  Ryan,"  said  Tom. 

The  Cartender  looked  at  him  sharply;  then 
he  smiled  expansively,  "Oho,"  he  said,  "oho, 
ye've  rowed  wit  Ryan.  That  wud  be  over 
Nora." 

"Be  quiet,  man,"  said  Tom  sternly.  "What 
do  ye  know  av  Nora?" 

"Only  this,"  said  The  Cartender,  aggres 
sively,  "only  what  Morans  knows  an'  ivery 
wan  on  the  hill  knows;  that  ye  two  will  some 
day  marry.  Have  folk  no  sinse  nor  eyes? 
An'  so  ye  rowed  wit  Ryan.  Well,  don't  let 
that  disturb  ye.  'Tis  Ryan's  old  woman  runs 
that  house,  not  Ryan."  He  grinned  and  went 
away,  with  a  clap  on  Tom's  shoulder. 

It  was  nearly  noon  before  Ryan  came  back 
from  talking  with  his  wife.  He  sat  down 
heavily.  "Got  a  cigar  about  ye?"  he  asked. 
When  Tom  handed  him  one  he  lighted  it  and 
puffed  in  silence  for  a  moment.  "About  that 
job,"  he  said,  "ye  will  take  charge  at  the  north 
portal  fer  a  few  mont's  till  we  get  started. 
By  that  time  ye'll  know  saft  ground  work. 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

And  ye  will  be  ready  then  to  run  the  whole 
thing." 

"Ye  mane?"  asked  Tom,  and  his  voice  was 
strained  with  eagerness. 

"I  mane,"  said  Ryan,  "that  bein'  a  married 
man  ye  will  be  settled  down  then  and  fit  fer 
superintendent." 

It  takes  some  people  longer  than  others  to 
tell  a  thing.  This  is  in  part  because  the  lan 
guage  of  different  persons,  speaking  what  is 
called  the  same  tongue,  varies  widely.  The 
hard  rock  men  used  English  above  all  other 
purposes  for  quick  expression.  Jerry  Morley 
utilized  the  advantages  of  their  speech  a  few 
years  later  by  a  bunk-house  stove.  The  circle 
of  drill  runners  hearkened  while  he  raised  his 
grizzled  head  and  removed  his  black  pipe  from 
his  lips  to  impart  a  history.  Said  Jerry — 

"White  Hat  Morton  they  call  him;  but  niv- 
ver  to  his  face.  'Twas  at  Snowslide  we  first 
seen  him,  a  raw  Mick.  He  was  grane  then 
but  his  fists  was  hard.  Wanst  he  licked  five 
min.  He  pounded  his  way  up  to  headin'  boss. 
Then  he  got  wise  an'  cut  out  whiskey  an'  they 
made  him  walker.  Afther  that  he  married 


THE    HARD    ROCK    MAN 

Gunnysack  Ryan's  Nora.     Now  luk  at  him, 
driver  av  us  all!" 

Only  one  thing  did  Jerry  omit.  His  tongue 
was  not  apt  at  handling  gentler  things  like 
love. 


THE  END 


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LIBRARY,   UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-Series  458 


N?   850081 

Bechdolt,  F.R. 

The  hard  rock  man. 


PS3503 
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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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